


Till Kingdom Comes

by ThorneofAcre



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Lawyers, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Badass Musketeers, Captain Treville - Freeform, Constance/d'Artagnan - Freeform, F/M, Gen, M/M, Teenaged! d'Artagnan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-26
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-01-13 20:46:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 87,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1240264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThorneofAcre/pseuds/ThorneofAcre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A teenaged d'Artagnan crosses paths with the Trio who are lawyers at the DA Treville's office because of a misunderstanding. It's fate really, them meeting like that.<br/>D'Artagnan must get over his distrust and pride to accept all that the three friends are offering and realize that perhaps they need him as much as he needs them. Then just as he finally learns to trust again, things from the past threaten the world they have managed to build.<br/>A modern AU where we have a teenaged d'Art, and ex-millitary lawyers musketeers with Captain Treville as the DA. Lots of emotional and physical hurt/comfort, humor, friendship and father/son relationship between Athos and d'Artagnan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It had been a shitty day.

One of Athos's prime witnesses had lost credibility when she had admitted to being in love with the serial rapist that Athos had been trying to put behind bars and a week's worth of solid work had gone down the drain. Then Athos had spent a whole hour in Treville's office getting chewed out about the fiasco which the court hearing had turned into. Thank god the presiding judge had been considerate and given him more time to prepare otherwise that filthy excuse of a man, Rooger, would have walked free.

He had no idea what to do next. He supposed he would be visiting the victim again, asking her about _that_ night. That was not something he was looking forward to.

He had every intention of going home and drinking himself into oblivion. Or if that didn't work, he decided would consider shooting himself.

Athos was walking to his car parked down the street, lost in his thoughts and did not see the young man until he had walked right into him. His hands shot out to stop the other man from falling and he grabbed him by the arms.

"What do you think you are doing?" the man demanded. "Let go!"

Athos was about to let go, explain that it had been a mistake and that he was sorry but the other man pushed at him, hard. Athos was so surprised that a thin guy like him had had that kind of strength that he did not see the punch coming until it hit him right in the jaw.

His head snapped back from the impact and rubbing his jaw with one hand Athos tried to explain, "Stop, I didn't – "

But the man wasn't listening, another hand flailed out and Athos ducked out of the way, his instincts taking over. He crouched low, anticipating his assailant's next blow and jabbed him with a straight palm in the ribs when he raised his arm. The man doubled over and Athos followed it with a kick to the knee and an elbow to his face.

The man went down, and did not move. Athos stood over the fallen body of his attacker, breathing heavily.

It took some time for the frantic beating of his heart to stop and the adrenaline pumping in his system to settle down. Athos came to his senses gradually, noticing first that his jaw barely hurt from the punch and second, the body at his feet.

He gasped and crouched beside the man to check for a pulse, letting out a sigh of relief on finding one. He turned him over to check how badly he had hurt him and looked at the young face in horror.

His 'attacker' was barely a teenager, fourteen or fifteen at best. There was a faded bruise around his eye and his nose was completely covered in blood, which had dribbled over his cheek and was dripping on the asphalt.

Athos swore. What was wrong with him? He had attacked a kid as if he was some deranged murderer about to kill him. He did not know what other damage he had done and fumbling for his phone, he hit speed dial one.

Aramis had not been happy at being called on his way home and asked to turn back and drive to the office. But the frantic edge in Athos's tone had told him that it would be best if he kept his displeasure to himself.

He did not have any such qualms when on pulling up to where he had said he would be waiting, he saw Athos cradling a prone boy's head in his lap. A boy who looked like he had gone three rounds against a bulldozer and lost. He took in the pale color, the blood covering his face, the ragged breathing and Athos's guilt stricken look and could figure out of what had happened.

"Athos, _what were you thinking?"_

Athos looked up, equal parts relieved and guilty, at the approaching man. "Aramis, you have to help him. I don't know what came over me. He attacked and I just…"

"You just what? Thought it would be a good idea to beat up a _kid_?" Aramis couldn't soften the harsh edge in his voice as he knelt to take in the damage, not noticing the wince on the other man's face. There was bruising on the chest and ribs, though some of it looked too old for it to have been caused by Athos. Aramis checked his hands and legs and except for an angry red bruise on the knee he did not find anything else.

Aramis sighed. Judging from the battered clothes the boy was probably some homeless junkie who had come at Athos and it really wasn't the other man's fault his instincts were as finely tuned as they were. Several years in the army made overriding the instinct to fight or flee difficult for any man. And in all the years Aramis had fought alongside Athos on the battlefield, he had never known the man to flee.

Still, the kid needed caring for and Aramis knew his friend wouldn't leave him lying around in such a state on the street. He, himself wasn't a huge fan of the idea either.

"Come on, it looks worse than it actually is." Aramis said, nudging Athos who was staring at the boy's bloodied face with a horrified expression. "Let's get him home and get him cleaned up."

Athos nodded mutely, and stood up, tenderly lifting the boy with an arm under his shoulders and another under the knee, wincing at the moan which escaped the lad's lips when the bruised knee was jostled, and carrying him bridal fashion to Aramis's car. Aramis followed, getting into the driver's seat while Athos carefully settled in the back with the body of the unconscious boy for the short ride home.

Home was a two storey villa with too many rooms for them to use, in one of the more expensive areas of Paris that Athos shared with Aramis and his boyfriend Porthos. He could very well afford to live by himself and give the couple some much deserved privacy but they wouldn't hear of him getting his own place.

They were of the opinion that he would drown himself in alcohol or starve himself to death if left unchecked. Athos wasn't wholly convinced that they were wrong so he hadn't pressed the issue, though he did bring it up from time to time when he felt especially guilty of imposing on his friends. They did the same thing every time he did: smack him on the head and guilt him into ordering pizza.

Aramis left the task of carrying the boy who had remained unconscious for the duration of the trip, up the steps and into the house while he rushed in first to get things ready. By the time Athos arrived, with the lanky body in his arms – the boy barely weighed anything at all – Aramis had taken out his version of a first aid box which had everything from insulin injections – despite none of them being diabetic – to an intubation tube.

Aramis said he liked to be prepared, Porthos said he was paranoid. After that Athos tended to tune out the conversations because it usually turned to thinly veiled innuendos followed by intense snogging.

He loved his friends, but there were somethings a man did not need to know about his best mates.

"In there," Porthos told him, glancing at the young boy in Athos's arms and indicating towards the guest bedroom, without preamble. Aramis must have filled him in to what happened. Or not.

Athos had never met a man who could appear to be as unfazed with surprising things as Porthos. He remembered the memorable time when Porthos had not batted an eyelid when the helicopter which had been supposed to carry them out of the danger zone had been blown up to shards by rebels, as they had gotten near, and left them stranded in the middle of the most dangerous conflict zone in all of Afghanistan. Porthos had simply nodded and started taking down the rebels one by one. They had made it out themselves after several days of hiding, defending themselves against the rebels and living off the land.

Athos walked into the guest bedroom, the only one empty downstairs, and found Aramis taking out bandages from his kit. He lay the boy down gently on the bed, and stepped back letting the ex-army medic work his magic. Aramis did not say anything further and worked silently, cleaning off the blood from the man's face and bandaging his ribs. He glanced up to find Athos staring at the boy's face, which looked even younger in the light of the room, with a haunted look in his eye. "Athos."

Athos was wrenched out of his thoughts by his name being spoken.

"Go to the bathroom. Get cleaned up. And go eat something," Aramis sad, talking softly, making sure he understood. "I have things under control here, and this might take time."

Athos nodded mutely, glad for the distraction and went out to the main hall which served as a living area with a kitchen tucked in a corner. There was a dining table but the trio never used it for eating, most of their meals taking pace on the go, and it was covered with papers and files from their cases. They had, however opted for getting several large couches surrounding a large coffee table, and a flat screen and surround system which was, in Athos' opinion a little too big for the room.

Porthos was in the kitchen stirring something in a pot. He quietly filled a glass with water from the tap and handed it to Athos, who sat down at one of the stools with it.

"So," Porthos said. Athos looked at him, waiting for him to continue. When it became apparent that he wasn't actually going to ask anything, Athos shrugged and looked away.

"God, I'm sorry." Athos rubbed his eyes, his shoulders slumping, all the anxiety of the day catching up to him. "I just… reacted, I guess."

Porthos nodded and turned around to fill a bowl with the stew he was cooking and placing it in front of Athos. "Not me you have to apologize to," he said, taking bowl for himself and sitting on the stool beside Athos.

They sat quietly for some time. "I get it though," Porthos said finally, as if he had never stopped. "I believe I would have reacted in much a similar fashion if someone had come at me."

Athos looked at him, not believing him for a second. "Alright," Porthos conceded after a short staring match, scowling. "Maybe I wouldn't have. But that doesn't change the fact that the reaction was understandable."

"He's just a boy," Athos whispered, brokenly. He had unleashed all his anger at a poor defenseless _kid_ who did not deserve it. There was nothing understandable about that.

Porthos nodded, acknowledging his point but was prevented from saying anything by Aramis who walked out of the room. Athos looked at him, the question evident.

"He's fine. There was some bruising, more from some previous incident than his run in with you I think." Aramis too took a seat and snagged Porthos's bowl. "I've bandaged him up and set him up with some glucose bags. Poor kid looks like he hasn't had a decent meal in ages, what with his bones jutting out and his paleness."

"He is going to be okay?" Athos asked visibly relaxing when Aramis nodded.

"Yes, he should be fine after a few days of resting his knee. It isn't fractured but the bruising suggests that it will hurt like a bitch." Aramis took in the contrite look on Athos's face and continued, "other than that, he'll be okay."

"That's good," Porthos said, nodding his head. "The lad will be fine, but you look like you are going to fall over any minute now. Go get a bath or something, and catch some sleep."

Aramis nodded. "Go ahead, we'll clean up and take first watch over the kid."

Athos shot his friends a grateful look and stumbled to his own room. He did not have the energy to do much other than peel off is clothes and stand under the shower for ten minutes before putting on some pajamas and getting into bed.

He thought about tomorrow, and the boy waking up. There was no way Treville was going to let him take the day off: the DA had enough on his plate without his best attorney calling in sick. Aramis too would have to go to work, the Rooger case was driving everyone up the wall, and after today's disaster they needed all hands on deck. Porthos however could be cut some slack. He had just won his own case after working it continuously for three months and deserved some downtime. He could be there to watch over the kid and be there when he woke up.

Athos thanked whoever was up there for giving him friends such as these two and drifted off to a restless sleep full of innocent eyes staring at him accusingly out of young bloody faces.

* * *

D'Artagnan woke up in a soft bed in a clean room with sunlight streaming in from the blinds and thought that he had finally died and this was what heaven looked like.

Then he felt the pain. _Everything_ hurt.

His brought a hesitant arm to his ribs, feeling them bandaged through the clean shirt he was wearing and then to his face, feeling his nose and wincing when it throbbed painfully. He tried to sit up and gasped as a wave of hot agony shot through his leg. He looked at his knee, which had been bandaged as well, and grimaced. He probably wouldn't be able to fight his way out of wherever the hell that sick bastard who had grabbed him had taken him to.

He tried to squash the wave of panic that tried to override any logical thinking. He was in an unknown house, with a man who could beat him to a bloody pulp and had almost done so, before bringing him to his house and dressing up his wounds like some sicko with a powerplay kink. D'Artagnan had met the kind before, he did not have any desire of becoming someone's _boy toy_ , as that truck driver had suggested sneeringly.

An involuntary shudder made its way up to his spine at the memory of the close encounter. He closed his eyes and focused on the pain.

The pain was good, it was grounding.

He grit his teeth and swung his legs over the bed, stifling the gasp that threatened to escape. D'Artagnan couldn't hear any noises, maybe the man was sleeping. Maybe he had thought d'Artagnan would remain unconscious and had gone out. Maybe d'Artagnan could escape without running into him.

Or he could find a phone and call the police… though the last time he had tried that, the policemen who had arrived had beaten him up for wasting their time.

D'Artagnan limped over to the door and breathed in relief to find it unlocked. He opened it cautiously peering out into an empty hall. There were other doors in what looked to be a large house but they were all closed. D'Artagnan spied a door across the hall which looked like the way out and started to hobble towards it. He was almost halfway through when one of the doors opened and the same man from last night walked out in his pajamas sleepily.

Athos froze at the sight of the young boy who had stopped in the middle of the hall, clearly on his way out and who was currently staring at him with a scared but defiant expression.

Athos was at a loss.

He was trained to handle bombs packed with C4 which could blow him up to smithereens if the wrong wire was cut, he was trained to think and make plans while surrounded by fire from four sides, he was even trained to outthink his opponent in a court room debate; but he couldn't, for the life of him think of what to do with a frightened boy who was looking at him like as if he was going to eat him alive.

He raised both his hands up and took a step forwards. The boy took a step back, causing Athos to frown. He really should not be walking around on that knee. Athos took a deep breath and calmed his pounding heart.  
"Look kid – "

"Don't call me that." The voice did not betray any of the signs of fear that Athos could read in the tense lines of the kid's body.

"Alright, what's your name?" Athos tried again, his tone placating.

The boy just looked at him for a minute before sighing. "Look mister, I don't know who you are but I can tell you what you are thinking is _not_ going to happen." He folded his hands and tried to stand straight to appear as imposing as he could. "If you try to force yourself upon me, I'll fight you. Judging from what you did last night, I know it won't end well for me, but I have nothing to lose, do I?"

Athos felt like as if he had been gutted. He took a sharp breath at the kid's words and the underlying determination in his tone. He had thought that Athos was going to _… oh God!_

Athos started walking slowly, but not towards the boy who still tried to move away and keep the distance between them, but towards the door. He went and opened it, letting the chilly morning air in, and stood back. "Look kid, I have no intention of harming you." He winced at the disbelieving look on the young man's face, "what happened last night was a mistake. You attacked and my instincts took over and for that I am very _very_ sorry."

Athos gestured towards the open door. "You can leave if you want. The door's open, I won't stop you." He walked away towards a sideboard. He slowly put down the phone he had been holding on the sideboard, the boy following his movements with his eyes, never turning his back on him. "Here's a phone, you can call someone to come pick you up. But please, I don't want to hurt you, and I have no intention of…-" Athos's voice broke and his face blanched at the thought, "- of _anything_ at all."

D'Artagnan looked at the man and considered his options. The phone was too close to where he was standing, so it wasn't really a viable one. The door however… If he made a run for it, d'Artagnan supposed he could get out. He studied the man's body language carefully. He did genuinely look sorry and his disgust had been apparent when d'Artagnan had warned him away.

But time on the streets had taught him not to trust any man's word. He took a step towards the door just to check if the man was going to make any movement to stop him, and when the man sat down on the sofa instead, he started walking rapidly.

His knee was killing him, hot waves of pain shooting through his body with each jagged step but he kept on walking. He was almost there when he hit his leg on a small side table and he stumbled landing on that same blasted knee. The scream shot out from his mouth despite his best attempts to stifle it and tears flooded his eyes as he tried to breathe through the _pain_.

Athos had watched the boy's determined walk with a sinking realization that nothing he could say was going to convince the poor kid that he meant him no harm. God only knew what horrors he had been through to be so jaded at such a young age. And what he had suggested… Athos didn't want to think about what sick bastard the kid had encountered to make _that_ the first thing to come to his mind. He had told himself that it really would do more harm than good if he tried to force the boy to stay and sit down to get off his injured leg.

Then the boy had hit his leg against the table and came crashing down with a heart breaking scream wrenching through his gritted teeth.

Athos was by his side in an instance, the noise bringing out Aramis and Porthos downstairs.

"What happened?" Aramis asked, on full alert, taking in the scene in front of him. He started making his way to where the young man that he had bandaged and looked after the previous night, was supporting himself on his palms, and one knee, tears streaming down his face as he tried his best to get up despite his obvious pain.

Athos however reached him first, trying to grab his arm to slip it over his shoulder and help the boy up without any of his weight falling on the injured leg, but the boy used one hand to push him away feebly. He turned to glare at him, and Athos froze at the panicked haunted look in the boy's eyes. He raised his hands in the air again, and spoke softly but urgently. "Please, I'm not going to hurt you, but you'll hurt yourself if you don't get off that knee right now."

The boy continued to glare at him for a moment before a helpless look passed over his face. He nodded sharply, too much in pain to speak and Athos was by his side in an instant not giving him the chance to rethink his choice. He quickly pulled one arm over his own shoulders, and slipped another around his thin waist, turning him so that he was making his way to the couch. He walked the boy, carrying most of his weight, over to the couch and set him down carefully.

Taking two steps back, he knelt in front of him and gestured for Aramis to come over. "Aramis here is a doctor, he was the one who bandaged you up last night. Would you let him look at your knee?" he asked.

The boy studied him for a minute the expression in his face unreadable before glancing at Aramis and nodding. Athos let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. "Good."

Aramis walked over slowly and sat on a stool in front of the couch, each movement deliberate so as to not spook the boy. "Hello, my name is Aramis." Aramis said, talking like as if this was quite a normal situation and the young man wasn't studying him warily, ready to run at a moment's notice. Or try to anyway, Aramis doubted he would get very far on that leg.

"And I'm not like my friend Athos here said, a doctor. I trained to be a medic in the army though. Patched these two here up too many times to count in the army. Still do actually. I'm the one they come running to when they need their hands held and their tears wiped."

The boy had been listening with a frown on his face, looking as confused as Athos felt. Aramis never rambled. Then a small smile broke out on his face and Athos was surprised once again at how young he looked. His hair were long and fell over his dark eyes, he was a little on the pale side, and there were circles around his eyes, but that still did not diminish the youthfulness and _innocence_ that the smile radiated.

An innocence which reminded Athos with a sharp pang of another young man, a boy really, whose eyes had lost their sparkling shine far too early.

Aramis noticed the boy warming up to him and continued talking while opening the bandage on his knee, having rolled up his trousers. "And you would imagine the number of times two grown men get into scrapes which need patching up to be far and few in between but oh how wrong would you be. It's every second day that I am getting a phone call and I drive over to find one of them beaten up, lying in their own blood, or in Athos's case drunk on his ass out on the streets, and it falls upon my poor shoulders to carry them back."

"Oy! Don't you go around filling the lad's head with lies." Porthos called out, moving towards the kitchen to fix them breakfast. "He is as bad as us, kid. The number of times he has to be rescued from some gal who has fallen all over his pretty face, it would be funny if it weren't so sad."

"Ha! You're just jealous I get all the attention," Aramis shot back, satisfied that the fall hadn't done more damage after some poking and prodding.

The boy actually grinned at the gruff tone, and Athos couldn't help himself. "What's your name, kid?" he winced mentally as soon as the question was past his lips, expecting another rebuke on calling him kid, but was surprised when none came. The boy looked at him for a moment and the other two men became silent.

"D'Artagnan." The whispered answer came a heartbeat later and Athos smiled.

'D'Artagnan, my name is Athos. This is Aramis and that's Porthos," he gestured to each of his friends. At a loss for what to say next, he added, "we're lawyers at the DA's office."

D'Artagnan nodded in silence. "Right."

Aramis smiled at his lack of response. "So anytime you want a team of badass lawyers to do some ass kicking on your behalf, give us a call."

"Breakfast is served." Porthos laid down the plates with several sandwiches, pulled from the refrigerator and heated in the microwave on the coffee table and sat down. Athos got up and got out a carton of orange juice from the refrigerator along with four glasses. Each of them picked up a sandwich and Athos piled a plate high with a few of them and placed it in front of d'Artagnan. He sat back in his own seat after pouring each of them a glass of juice.

They all got busy with their food, pretending not to see how the young boy looked at his plate and then sneaked looks at each of them before picking up a sandwich and biting it tentatively. Then it was like a dam had broken and he wolfed down the entire thing so fast that Athos was slightly concerned he'll choke. He shook his head at Aramis who looked like he was about to comment. He didn't want the kid to feel self-conscious, this probably was the first time he had eaten anything solid in quite a while.

He needed to know what to do next though so once he noticed that after clearing away several sandwiches, d'Artagnan's pace had slowed down, he cleared his throat.

"You can lie down in that room over there, there is enough to eat in the fridge and the bathroom is just down the hall." He looked at d'Artagnan who had stopped eating and was studying his plate intently. "If you want to leave, we can drop you off wherever you want."

D'Artagnan looked up, torn between the promise of a clean bed, a functioning toilet and the mistrust which lingered about a strange place with strange people. The men seemed decent enough though, and besides this was the same man who had knocked him out for several hours with only a few blows. If he had wanted to hurt him, d'Artagnan was pretty sure he wouldn't be able to stop him. So there was nothing holding him back, yet he had made no move to harm him in any way.

And there were the two others. They seemed fine, if a little weird.

Aramis glared at Athos. "That isn't fair, mate." He looked at d'Artagnan. "Look, I'm sure wherever you need to be can wait. You are in no fit state to go anywhere. Once you've healed enough we can take you wherever you want to go."

Porthos nodded and Athos shot Aramis a grateful look. It was too soon to give him an ultimatum. He didn't trust them yet, he would probably try to run and then injure himself even more. Besides they didn't know what they wanted him to do. Athos wasn't sure why he felt the overwhelming urge to make the boy stay, but he wasn't questioning it right now.

Not when the bruising on the kid's face was beginning to color and he couldn't shift in his seat without wincing with pain.

A large part of it was guilt, he knew that. It wasn't everyday that he lost control like that after all. But some part inside him, a small part, wanted the boy to stay just _because_.

D'Artagnan looked relieved for a second before masking it behind a mask of curious indifference. "What do you guys want from me?"

If only Athos knew.

"Nothing," he told d'Artagnan. "But I am not about to let you walk out in the state you are in and hurt yourself further when your condition is my fault… - "

"I don't need your pity!" d'Artagnan looked offended.

"Look kid, it's not about pity." Athos tried to diffuse the situation. Where had that burst of pride come from? He thought homeless people jumped at the chance of getting the comfort of a house. "It's a matter of principle. Call it honor if you would, but whatever it is, it won't allow me to act so inconsiderately."

"What my not-so-eloquent friend here is trying to say is that he's an ass with a shitload of problems and you shouldn't take it too seriously," Aramis piped up, once again getting a small smile out of the kid. Athos didn't like the small flare of jealousy that flared up.

Why did _Aramis_ get that smile?

He scowled at the man who just chuckled. Porthos looked amusedly between the two. "Don't you guys have work to get to?" he asked, and both men in question simultaneously looked at their watches and stood up hurriedly.

They were late. Treville was going to have their heads if he had to go to the victim's house instead of them.

Athos gulped down the rest of his juice and hurriedly made his way to his room, "Make sure you tell Porthos where d'Art's meds are!" he called over his shoulder.

"Yeah, he already showed them to me last night." Porthos replied, reassuring him.

D'Artagnan simply lay his head back on the couch and watched them run about getting dressed and tucking files into their briefcases and finishing of their breakfast all at once. They kept reminding each other things that they would need for the day which made for a comic scene of one of them rushing to their room and coming back with an item of clothing in one hand and a file in the other and then saying something to the other who would return to their room and come back in a similar fashion. In a few minutes time though, both men were dressed and ready to go. Apparently the frantic routine was a common place occurrence judging by the casualty of Porthos's expression as he cleared away the breakfast plates.

"Aren't you going to go too?" d'Artagnan asked Porthos, who shook his head.

"I got a couple of days off," he said, setting a stool in front of the couch where d'Artagnan was sitting. "Just got over with a long drawn out case and I have earned some downtime."

D'Artagnan nodded at that. "So you three work together?"

Porthos nodded. "Yea, I've known… -" He was cut off by Aramis hollering for his car keys. "They are on the fridge love!" he called out. "Sorry, I was saying that I've known these guys since I was twelve."

Athos and Aramis had made it to the door and after yelling goodbye and one last reminder from Athos about the medicines, they were out of the door. It was suddenly quiet, with the two gone and d'Artagnan thought of something to say to fill the silence.

"So you studied together?" d'Artagnan asked. Porthos looked away for a second and d'Artagnan suddenly realized that he was prying. "I'm sorry I didn't mean too…"

"No, no it's okay." Porthos said. "They studied together. I on the other hand tried to steal Athos's father's wallet."

D'Artagnan looked at him, his eyes wide with surprised and Porthos couldn't help but laugh at the incredulous expression on the kid's face. "Yeah, he caught me with my hand literally in his pocket. Instead of turning me in to the police, he took me in. Got me to clean up my act and enrolled me in school with Athos. There I met Aramis who was Athos's best friend and since then we have been inseparable. We went to college together, then got our law degrees together. In a fit of patriotism we even enlisted in the army together and then decided not to sign up for a second tour. Now we work in the same office, though Athos and Aramis work a lot more closely with each other."

The story did not sound like a fabrication made up to earn d'Artagnan's trust. Though he wouldn't have believed a man as cultured as Porthos to have such a rough background, his story rang with honesty. "Athos's father must have been a good man."

"Oh that he was. I owe a great deal to him," Porthos did not hesitate in his answer. "His son too. Athos is the kindest and most honorable man I know, barring Aramis. He really does feel badly about what happened last night, you know."

D'Artagnan looked away, ashamed. He did not need to be reminded that he had had his ass handed to him quite thoroughly not twelve hours ago. Granted Athos had had a valid reason, he had after all attacked first, and Athos was a trained soldier and all that, but that did not stop d'Artagnan from feeling mortified.

If he hadn't overreacted in such a way, these men wouldn't have felt honor bound to offer him their home.

He tried to change the subject. "So how long have you and Aramis been more than friends?"

Porthos looked surprise and d'Artagnan snorted. "I am young, I am not an idiot. You came out of the bedroom together, you look at each other in a certain way and you did just call him love." He smirked at the infuriated look on the older man's face. "Was I not supposed to hear that?"

"You know, no one likes a smartass." Porthos grumbled, though there was no heat in his tone. "We've been together for a little less than four years now, a year after we left the army."

D'Artagnan nodded. He kept waiting to be asked questions about himself, but it seemed that Porthos really had lived on the streets once. Only someone who had been there knew not to ask about another man's plight.

After a while of talking about all the silly things that thee three of done had done together, Porthos remembered that it was time for d'Artagnan to take his medicines. D'Artagnan hesitated for a minute before reminding himself that the men had made to move to harm him in any way yet, and taking the offered pills.

The pain which had built up to a steady throb lessened slightly and he could feel his eyes drooping.

"Hey kid, don't sleep like that, you'll wake up very sore." Porthos's voice filtered through his sleep addled mind.

He 'hmm-ed' but made no move to get up. He felt strong arms pulling his to his feet, taking care not to cause any jerky movements and felt himself being led to the bedroom he had woken up in a few hours ago.

He didn't know anything after that except there was a blanket and a pillow, a _pillow!,_ and he drifted off to sleep.

Porthos swept back the hair from the young lad's eyes and watched his face relax as he slept. He looked so painfully young, without the guarded mask hiding the innocence of his face in place. No doubt the kid had seen very bad days. He had that look in his eyes that Porthos was all too familiar with. Porthos just hoped he would take as much comfort from the arrangement as he can while getting better. Who knew, maybe he would decide he wanted to stay.

Porthos wouldn't mind that, it would be nice to have a new face around the place.

* * *

"Well, that was a nice and complete waste of time." Aramis commented as they made their way back to the parked car from Gloria Bennet's house. The twenty year old girl had barely answered a couple of their questions before the father had started ranting about how they were wasting their time harassing his daughter instead of getting the man responsible for her state. All of Athos's attempts at calming him down and Aramis's charm had fallen flat and the pissed off father had rather unceremoniously told them to leave.

Treville wasn't going to be happy.

But then the D.A rarely ever was. Athos couldn't remember the last time he had seen the man crack a smile. He perpetually worried about something or the other. It kind of made Athos have second thoughts about taking over the title once the older man stepped down or went on to become a judge.

He hoped that day was still a far way off. He had no desires of adding to his responsibilities just yet. He worked behind the scenes just fine.

"I get his frustration though." Athos replied, getting in the car. "Think about it. Had it been your child who had been raped and dumped on the streets, how would you feel?"

As soon as the question was out of his mouth the image of d'Artagnan's panicked face, warning him from _forcing himself on him_ , flashed in Athos's mind and he winced.

Aramis saw his friend's grimace and could guess where his mind had taken him. Athos had told him about what had transpired this morning. He shuddered at the thought, thinking instead about what the kid would be doing now. Porthos had probably gotten him to take his meds and he must be sleeping.

"We can't kick him back out," Athos whispered, his eyes on the road.

Aramis shot his friend a surprised look. It wasn't like Athos to be so protective of anyone. "Yes, we don't want that. But we can't force him to stay against his will. Besides if there are people looking for him – "

"You know as well as I do that the kid has no one looking for him." Athos shook his head and glanced at Aramis. "You saw him. He has probably been living on the streets, and with the bruises and all, he isn't doing so well..."

Aramis nodded. D'Artagnan's body had been covered with faded bruises as if he had taken a beating not too long ago, and he had the too thin ragged look of the homeless. Besides the haunted staring was a dead giveaway. This was a boy who had seen far too much at too young an age.

"He looks barely fifteen. He wouldn't last another year on the streets," Athos said, gripping the steering wheel tightly.

"Look, let's just take it one day at a time. Let him see what kind of people we are. Earn his trust. Then when he is better and makes to leave, we can extend the offer for him to stay," Aramis said, taking in the tense lines of his friend's body. He had never seen anyone get under Athos' skin as d'Artagnan had done.

Athos nodded simply, and they drove in silence after that until they reached the office.

It was a very expectedly awful remainder of the day spent leafing through every single witness account and statement and turning every stone to find a lead later, that the two men were on their way home. Aramis had suggested they get food and Athos had chosen Chinese.

So it was with bags in hands and briefcases slung over their shoulders that the two men entered the house and stared at the scene in front of them.

D'Artagnan and Porthos sat on the couch in front of the telly, the former with his leg propped up with a cushion on a stool in front of him, each holding a joystick in hand and lost in Little big Planet.

d'Artagnan must have finished the level with more points than Porthos because he laughed as the score was shown on the screen while Porthos grumbled at him good naturedly, before noticing the two men in the doorway.

"Oh look!" Porthos said, getting d'Artagnan's attention, "Food!"

Athos rolled his eyes at the greeting while Aramis put down the bags and went over to give Porthos, who barely turned away from the next level they were starting, a kiss on the lips. "Come on, it's not going to remain hot forever."

"There are kids in the room!" Athos called out from the kitchen, where he was searching the cabinets for enough bowls and spoons for all of them.

"I was talking about the food, shithead!" Aramis replied sharing a quick grin with Porthos while d'Artagnan hid a smile.

Aramis had noticed the way the boy had visibly tensed on realizing that they were back, but he was glad that the kid had become at ease with Porthos. But then it really wasn't difficult to warm up to the bigger man. For all his gruff exterior, there lay an adorably friendly and loveable person underneath.

But then Aramis could be biased. When it came to Porthos, he rarely wasn't.

Athos came out of the kitchen with the contents of the bag poured out in several bowls and plates balanced on a large tray. He set it down on the table and looked at d'Artagnan.

"How are you feeling?"

D'Artagnan put away the controller and looked at the food for a long moment before answering, "Not very bad, I think." Athos rose an eyebrow for him to go on, "I still can't move my leg much without hurting it and I feel sore. But the pills helped with the pain and I was able to go to sleep for some time."

Aramis nodded, gesturing towards the food. "Good, that's good. Sleep will heal your injuries faster. And so will food, come on now, dig in."

D'Artagnan took a bowl and the offered chopsticks and started picking at his food. Athos looked at the paused game on the screen, "So I see you have been kicking Porthos' ass at this game."

Porthos groaned. "The lad got the whole damn thing almost immediately and I keep getting stuck. It's a little unfair."

D'Artagnan smiled into his bowl, head bowed. Athos grinned. "Well, in that case, I'm sorry we don't have any more games."

D'Artagnan looked curious but did not ask. Aramis however saw his look. "Most of the games today are quite violent and are too realistic for Athos' delicate tastes, this was the only one I could think of when I got him the PS which wouldn't make him uneasy."

"Sod off," Athos scowled. "You make me sound like some disturbed old man suffering from PTSD." He shook his head and shot d'Artagnan a look, "Those games are annoying because they aren't realistic enough, if anything. Why would I enjoy a stimulated battlefield when I have been to one that is far far worse than anything they can think of?"

"He has a point," Porthos agreed, nodding sagely. "Blowing things up in real life? So much more fun." Aramis and he shared a grin.

They ate in silence for a while before Porthos looked at his friends.

"Did you get a break in the Rooger case?" he asked, trying to pursue a lone noodle with his chopsticks before giving up and simply picking it up with his fingers.

Both Aramis and Athos had matching scowls on their face as they shook their heads. "At the rate the case is going, Rooger will have no trouble walking a free man. And after all he had done…"

"Mark Rooger?" d'Artagnan asked, all three men looking at him in surprise.

"Yea, you know of him?" Athos asked, his voice strained, not wanting to know the answer. _Why_ did d'Artagnan know a known rapist?

D'Artagnan looked sorry that he had spoken, but after a second replied, "Not really, but there is talk on the streets about an abandoned house that no one would go into… and I did one night."

There was a collective intake of breath. D'Artagnan could not meet any of the gazes of all three men who were staring at him and he kept his eyes on his hands.

"And?" Aramis prompted softly.

"And there wasn't anyone inside, but there were things hanging from the walls and pictures… so many pictures littering the place like trophies," d'Artagnan shuddered at the memory.

"Did anyone see you there?" Athos asked, quietly.

"No, no I got out, not wanting to stay in such a place. The boys told me later that it was Mark Rooger's place and that he killed anyone whom he saw in there."

There was silence as the three men absorbed this information. Then Athos took a deep breathe.

"D'Artagnan, can you tell us where this place is?" Athos asked. The boy looked at him, suddenly terrified.

"But you can't go there, he will see you and…" his eyes darted around the room frantically as if Rooger would somehow appear from one of the bedrooms and attack him.

Porthos laid a hand on d'Artagnan's arm, causing the boy to flinch for a second before calming down. "Kid, we have Rooger in custody. But the witnesses against him keep disappearing or changing their statements. We need some solid evidence and we need him fast if we are to put him away for a long, long time," he explained slowly. "Besides, we aren't that easy to take down, in case you haven't noticed. And we'll go there with the police as back up."

D'Artagnan studied Porthos for a moment and then looked at Athos and nodded. "Give me a pen and paper. I will write down the address for you."

Aramis smiled grimly, and got up to do as the boy had asked. If this turned out to be the break they were looking for, then it meant that Rooger had abused a lot more women than the ones they had been able to track down. Who knew, maybe they would find the man himself in one of the pictures, and there won't even be the need for anymore witnesses.

That horrible rapist was going to go away for a long long time. Athos took the paper on which d'Artagnan had written down the address and dialed the office, walking away to make the call.

It was late, but this could not wait.

Five days later, the case had been won and the man had been sentenced to three lifetimes in prison. D'Artagnan's tip had paid off, and they had found a gold mine of evidence at the address he had given them, from incriminating pictures of him doing unspeakable things to young girls to his DNA all over the place. No one else was ever going to fall at the mercy of Mark Rooger's twisted desires.

Even d'Artagnan was feeling a lot better. The swelling in his knee had subsided and he could move around with only a slight limp every now and then. He was also looking better, some color had returned to his face and the sunken hollowed look had almost disappeared.

Athos had been in a better mood than he had been in for weeks and they had decided to celebrate. A new Italian place had opened a little way off and Aramis had suggested that they try the cuisine there. D'Artagnan had looked hesitant at first, but then Aramis had turned earnest eyes at him and he had given in with a smile. Athos had driven them all to the restaurant and they were all seated at a round table tucked away in a corner.

The restaurant was not bad, not too classy to make d'Artagnan uncomfortable but a few steps up from the greasy fast food chains that had taken over the area. The food was great, if a little on the spicy side and the atmosphere relaxed.

"-and this guy here had the whole brooding thing going on, and did not even realize he was being hit upon until the man almost kissed him."

Athos watched his two friends and the kid laugh at his expense, Aramis recounting the only time he had been convinced into joining the couple on a night out and they had taken him into a gay bar. It wasn't the worst experience he had had, but it certainly wasn't a good memory.

"We had to peel the man off the floor after Athos was done punching his face in, and he was more heartbroken that Athos wasn't interested in him than concerned about his broken nose." Porthos completed the story after they had regained their breaths.

Athos knew that they should talk to d'Artagnan about what he wanted to do now that he was getting better, he wanted the kid to know that he was welcome to stay if he wanted. He was almost sure that d'Artagnan would even accept the offer but the boy looked so relaxed, so at ease, with his head thrown back in laughter and his hair flopping around, that Athos just did not have the heart to put him on his guard by bringing anything serious up. He decided that he would talk to him tomorrow and convince him to stay. Tonight they can just tell stupid stories about each other, eat too spicy food and have a good time.

He wished he had said something then, when on waking up the next day they found the door to d'Artagnan's room open, the room empty except for a scribbled note on the pillow.

_Thank you._

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Athos isn't coping well with the wounds that d'Artagnan's abrupt departure have reopened.  
> Mention of heavy drinking and some non graphic heavy violence. Also Porthos/Aramis.

Aramis pushed Porthos through the front door, his lips not leaving the other man’s for a single second and laughed when his lover grunted, almost losing his balance. Porthos steadied himself and grabbed Aramis by the neck, pulling him closer, _needing_ him with a ferocity that defied the restrictions of so many _clothes_.

Aramis chuckled at Porthos’s roughness and loosened his tie as both of them kicked off their shoes. It had been a dull day at the office until Aramis had started texting Porthos, who had been away meeting with a client.

And what texts they had been. Porthos had had to sit and smile and pretend he did _not_ have a raging hard-on as he oh so casually kept glancing at his phone. He may have excused himself from the meeting and jacked off to some of the positively evil texts in the bathroom. Porthos growled as he took in Aramis’s half-done tie and roughed up shirt.

He intended to make the other man _pay_.

Aramis grinned at the dark desire in his boyfriend’s eyes. “So we can forgo dinner I suppose?”

“Oh no worries.” Porthos said, capturing the grinning mouth in a hard kiss, “I intend to eat _you_ tonight.”

The kiss was a frenzied clash of tongue and teeth and lips as both men fought for dominance. It was a while before Aramis relented and relaxed as Porthos completely ravished his mouth, one hand buried in his lover’s dark hair and the other roaming under the shirt. A low moan sounded from further in the hall and both the men froze, lips still locked together. They looked at each other and Aramis groaned into the kiss.

Not the sexy groan of want and need which sent al the blood in Porthos’ body straight to his cock. No this groan meant something very different.

They had company.

Aramis extracted himself from Porthos’ arms who let him go after only a moment’s hesitation and stepped back. Their eyes met, Aramis’ apologetic and Porthos’ understanding and the latter nodded. “Right. I’ll go upstairs, get a bath ready. You put him to bed and join me.”

Aramis nodded in agreement, smiling at his boyfriend’s suggestive winking. “Yeah, I’ll be up in a minute.”

He made his way to the couch while taking off his coat and slinging it one of the other sofas and looked down at his friend.

Athos was curled up on the larger sofa, his big frame not quite fitting, an arm swinging out with a bottle of wine clutched tightly in it. Aramis did not think he had gone to sleep, he suspected his friend had passed out instead. He frowned and took the bottle from him before shaking his shoulder.

When there was no reaction except an incoherent mumble, Aramis bent down and picked up the other man, slinging his arm over his shoulders and grabbing him around the waist. He carried him like that to Athos’ room, and put him to bed. Athos fell gracelessly when Aramis let go, his arms flopping as he landed on his stomach. Aramis turned him over to his side and took off his shoes. He pulled the covers until they covered the sleeping man’s shoulders and brushed sweaty locks of dark hair out of his friend’s eyes.

He stepped back and opening a drawer took out some pills. Getting a glass of water from the kitchen he placed both on the nightstand in arm’s reach from the bed. He gazed at the unconscious man who was mumbling in his sleep, his nightmares following him even to that extent of drunken oblivion, not letting him rest.

Before the man had used to drink this much only after exceptionally painful cases, but in the month since meeting d’Artagnan he had been drinking himself to sleep almost every night. Aramis knew that the boy’s abrupt arrival into their lives and even more brusque departure from it had affected Athos more than he cared to admit. He was as good as ever at his job as ever, better actually, his cases being the only thing he paid any attention to. Apart from that he declined any attempts to get him to socialize, glared sourly at any attempt at conversation, did not eat unless forced and was overall on a one way ride to a premature grave.

Each night he would come back home late after being kicked out from the office by Treville or dragged out by Aramis or Porthos, and ate only whatever Aramis could coax into him before taking his place on the couch with the bottle of his choice and steadily drinking until he passed out. Each night either Aramis or Porthos carried him into his bedroom and put him to bed.

They could do nothing more except be there for him and pick him up when he had fallen too far. They hadn’t seen him this bad ever since _she_ had died, and they knew no amount of talking to him or forcing him to get over it would work. They had tried everything they could think of then but the raw look on Athos’ face had faded only with time.

Aramis can sew together gaping gashes and oozing bullet wounds with such neatness that they wouldn’t leave a scar. But there was nothing he could do for his friend. Only time could heal the wounds which had been torn open again by the boy’s soft smiles and young innocence. Aramis just hoped there was enough will to live left in his friend to get him through.

One last look at the forlorn form on the bed and he closed the door and went upstairs to his own room and sought comfort his boyfriend’s arms.

XXX

Athos was pissed.

The new intern had decided it would be a great idea to tell everyone who called for him at the office that he was ‘otherwise occupied,’ when he had been sitting at his desk all morning wondering why no one was calling him for any work.

Granted his head had been killing him and he had looked like death warmed over but that wasn’t exactly a new occurrence and therefore not a cause for concern. Not for the dimwitted bleeding heart of an intern, anyway.

Athos had, with all the delight in the world, unleashed his rage at the intern and given him such a dressing down that the man had been reduced to tears towards the end.

That had made him feel marginally better until a very _very_ furious Aramis and Porthos had marched into his room, sent apparently by Treville to ‘knock some sense into that idiot and stop him from becoming a complete asshole.’

Athos had called Aramis the asshole, Aramis had called him a pathetic child who didn’t have the guts to do something about what was really wrong to which Athos had pointed out that he had just let the intern know very clearly what was really wrong. There had been a few heartbeats of silence and then Porthos had commented quietly, “You know he is talking about d’Artagnan.”

Things had just gone downhill from there. Athos had shut down, not replying to any other jibe, in Aramis’ case or sympathetic statement from Porthos. He had tried to drone out their voices by listening to ‘Stairway to Heaven’ playing in his head but some bits and pieces had still filtered through.

“ _Grow a backbone would you?”_

_“We know he reminded you of your brother, it’s okay to miss him.”_

_“Oh for god’s sake, get a grip. You are still alive, despite your best attempts, so you might as well try to stop fucking your life up!”_

_“It’s hard, we get it. But he is gone…”_

_“So why don’t you do something about it?”_

He didn’t know what the point had been. It was probably to talk some sense into him. But all his friends have succeeded in doing was make him very very pissed.

So much so that he was prowling the dark, cold streets of Paris, hoping to… pick a fight, maybe. Take out all the anger on some sick fuck. Or lose himself in the confusing alleyways so he wouldn’t have to go home… Or maybe, catch a sight of dark hair flopping over bright eyes sparkling in the too pale face of a too thin boy – No, he was just looking for a fight.

Yes, that was so much simpler.

He wasn’t entirely displeased thus when he rounded a corner and peered into a particularly filthy alley to find a group of six boys beating up a lone one.

He walked closer, intending to lend a piece of his mind about what he thought about bullies who ganged up on a single person unfairly, when he froze.

The dark hair, the familiar scrunched up shoulders, the quiet stifled moans.

No, it couldn’t be.

His mind went completely blank as he took in the curled up form on the ground and he did not realize when he let out a furious roar and walked over to the attackers. The fight was quick, it was brutal, untrained, wannabe gangsters being no match for Athos.

He stood with his fists clenched surrounded by the fallen bodies of the unconscious attackers and took a moment to calm himself before approaching the one in the middle. d’Artagnan hadn’t moved since Athos had arrived and he knelt next to the boy to check how badly he was damaged.

Athos pushed the horror, fear and _ohgodlethimbeokayplease_ down firmly, and slowly and methodically checked the lad for broken bones and bleeding gashes. A shallow head wound had bled like head wounds tended to and his hair was clumped together. He found a deep gash on a shoulder, which had bled until it had turned the shirt d’Artagnan was wearing into a dirty red. It looked like it had been caused by a knife and Athos grit his teeth in anger. So not only were the spineless bastards attacking a single boy, they had brought a knife along. There were several other shallow cuts on his arms and severe bruising on the back. They had probably not stopped kicking after d’Artagnan had gone down: one of the bruises was distinctly boot shaped.

An anguished whimper escaped from the unconscious boy and brought tears to Athos’ eyes. He blinked them away resolutely and carefully picked up the kid, feeing a vague sense of déjà vu. He shifted d’Artagnan’s head until it was resting against Athos’ shoulder so that the injured shoulder wouldn’t be jostled too much, cursing himself to be in too much of an angry haze to take his car or even his phone with him on his nocturnal walk.

He started walking knowing that anyplace where he could stop and place a call for an ambulance was still a few blocks from wherever he was. No shop in the area dared to be open after sundown, no one wanting to become prey for the dangerous types that prowled these streets.

No place in Paris was shabby or poor by day. In the sunlight, the houses looked antiquated yet quaint. But once the sun set, the sheer _greyness_ of these areas was enough to make someone claustrophobic. And then when the homeless junkies or the rowdy gangs started making themselves known, it was best to stay inside and close the windows and pretend you cannot hear the sounds of some guy being beaten up or some shop being robbed.

Athos wondered how many times that guy had been d’Artagnan. To survive on the streets, boys either sought the protection of one of the gangs or learnt to protect themselves. It didn’t seem like d’Artagnan had done either. He walked steadily, trying not to pay attention to how extremely light the body in his arms was, crossing a couple of blocks until he could make out a light glowing on a phone booth. His pace quickened and he hurried to it.

* * *

 

Aramis had known he would feel like hell after, but damn if it hadn’t felt good to let out the anger that had been building up inside at seeing his friend go down a path he had thought they had steered him away from a long time ago.

And sure enough two minutes after Athos had stood up and walked out of his office, a thunderous rage brewing beneath his stoic expression, his knees had buckled and Aramis had found himself being pulled into Porthos’ waiting arms. He had sought comfort, burying deep in his boyfriend’s chest as the bigger man enveloped him in a hug. The sobs that came were more from emotional exhaustion than anything else but Porthos had murmured sweet nothings in his ear along with telling him that Athos had needed the push, and that he had done good.

Aramis knew his friend needed to hear the things he had said, but that did not stop him from feeling utterly and completely wretched. But they had work to do, and since Athos had walked off, Aramis took over his phone calls and Porthos rescheduled the appointments he had had for the day. They dreaded going home later, not wanting to find their friend in a drunken oblivion again, and realizing their words had not had any effect whatsoever.

Athos was a cool, collected and calm person. Unless he was angry.

Then all bets were off. He might rage and rant, or he might destroy things or he might look to punch someone. Aramis and Porthos had dealt with all of it before, helping him up, picking up the pieces and putting him back together when he was spent.

But Aramis had never seen the cold fury he had caught a glimpse of in his friend’s eyes before he had waked out. It frightened him, like things did not frighten him anymore.

Aramis had been staring at the same piece of paper for the past half an hour, eyes glazed over, contemplating calling it a day and getting back home to his bed, when Porthos burst into his room.

“Athos called. He is in the hospital!” There was a worried edge to Porthos’ words, an edge that rarely made an appearance.

Aramis shot up from his seat, his hand grabbing his hat and coat. “Did he say how bad he was hurt? Did you speak to him or the doctor? Did he sound bad? Oh god… this is all my fault. I was too hard on him.” Aramis rocked back on his heels, his mind going through one scenario after the other all of which ended with Athos lying bleeding, almost dead on the streets of Paris.

Porthos looked at the other man, unsure of whether to answer his questions or comfort him. “Look, he called me himself from his own mobile. And he did not sound hurt, just tired. He asked if you were with me before asking if both of us can come, so… let’s just get there first.”

Aramis nodded, and the duo hurried out after a word to Treville. They did not tell the DA anything about Athos yet, they didn’t want him to worry unless they had confirmed there was something to worry about.

Knowing Athos, there probably was a _lot_ to worry about.

Athos sat in the uncomfortable plastic chair gazing at the unconscious young boy lying on the bed attached to the IVs. He hadn’t wanted to chance missing some vital injury and had called for an ambulance instead of calling Aramis. It had been only when the doctors had come out of the ER and told him that d’Artagnan had been stitched up and moved into a room that Athos’ mind had worked past the frantic pleading and praying and he had called his friends to tell them where he was.

The boy looked tired and worn out, with bags under his eyes and his skin a sickly grey color. He was painfully thin, his long loose limbs without a single ounce of muscle on them. Athos stared at him and couldn’t stop himself from reaching out and brushing away the dark hair which contrasted starkly with the clean white bandage around his head.

It had been a rare turn of luck, a brief acknowledgement perhaps of his miserable existence by whoever Aramis prayed to, that Athos had found him when he had. Otherwise, Athos thought with a shudder, d’Artagnan wouldn’t have survived the night.

“Dad…?” d’Artagnan mumbled, unconsciously turning towards Athos’ touch.

An iron fist clenched Athos’ heart and it _hurt_. He rubbed his eyes with one hand, feeling a headache starting for lack of alcohol, and took a deep breathe. He sat silently one hand going through the sleeping boy’s hair, lost in his thoughts.

He didn’t know if it was hours or minutes later that Aramis and Porthos burst into the room and froze, their eyes widening at the unexpected sight before them. The couple had come in fearing the worse when they had been told that Athos had been in this room since the surgery but now fear for their friend turned into concern and anxiousness for the boy that they hadn’t even realized they had started caring about.

“Oh my god, Athos!” Aramis cried out automatically assuming the worst, “Did you beat him up _again_?”

“ _What_?” Athos’s confusion was enough proof of his innocence. That, and the look of utter disgust he shot Aramis before turning back to watch the sleeping kid. “For God’s sake, no. I found some punks attacking him and got him here.”

Porthos nodded while Aramis looked at him in silent apology. Athos managed a small smile to ease the worry on both their faces. “He had a flesh wound on the shoulder and some cuts and bruises all over, and other than the fact that he looks like a starved puppy, the doctors say he’s going to be fine.”

Porthos sighed in relief. “This time, can we tie him to the bed or something, to stop him from leaving?”

Aramis grinned but then sobered up quickly, “No that would only spook him. We need to talk to him.”

Athos nodded in agreement. “I was thinking the same thing. He’ll probably be full of wounded pride on being saved again, though.” He grinned, looking at the young boy in bed.

“Have you eaten at all since leaving the office?” Porthos asked, looking at Athos and groaned when Athos shook his head no. “You know, you need to stop acting like a child if we are to have an actual one around.”

Athos looked annoyed for a moment before looking away, ashamed. “I know.” He looked at his friends, “I am sorry you two had to put up with me and I just…” he trailed off, not having the words to explain what it was that had sent him over the edge again. He wasn’t sure he himself knew either.

His friends nodded, not needing any words of apology or explanation.

“You think he’ll agree to staying with us?” Aramis asked.

Porthos looked at him. “No, I don’t.”

Athos looked at him, aghast at the possibility of letting the kid go again after just saving his life. “Well, we’ll just have to convince him then.”

“That might not be as easy as you think.” Aramis said softly, watching d’Artagnan shift restlessly in his sleep.

“I know,” Athos said simply, resuming his task of combing through d’Artagnan’s hair. The kid relaxed into the touch once again.

* * *

 

He had thought he had heard voices, he had tried to listen to them. But he was so tired and the darkness was so much more comforting.

There had been a touch. A touch he hadn’t felt in ages. He must be back home, sick with some ailment or the other with his worried father sitting at his bedside. He smiled softly and welcomed the darkness again.

There was _pain_.

So much pain. It called out to him, but he shied away, preferring to remain in the dark. But the pain would not leave him be. A soft gasp escaped his lips and he clenched his hand around something warm.

“Shh, it’s okay,” a voice said from above him and d’Artagnan struggled to open his eyes.

There was someone there. He didn’t know who, and he didn’t know where he was. Panic threatened to overcome him and he felt his heartbeat speeding up.

“d’Artagnan, it’s me, Athos. You are in a hospital.” The voice said again. “Please relax, it’s going to be okay.”

Athos. The name sounded familiar. It reminded d’Artagnan of a house, and laughter and _safety_.

His pounding heart slowed and he breathing became easier. He gave up the fight to open his eyes and relaxed, welcoming the darkness.

It wasn’t until the next day that d’Artagnan woke up. Aramis and Porthos were at the office, but Athos had asked for a day off. With the number of cases he had been closing recently, and the number of hours he had put in, Treville had granted him a couple days leave. He had not left d’Artagnan’s bedside for a single moment except to relieve himself and freshen up in the morning after having fell asleep sitting on the chair.

He did not even notice that d’Artagnan had woken up for some time. The kid had been moaning in his sleep and the nurse he had called had increased the morphine in his system so he had assumed that he would remain out of it for a long time to come.

D’Artagnan quietly watched the man bent over some papers in his hand, reading intently. He looked terrible, his clothes rumpled and his frame thinner than he had last seen him. But d’Artagnan supposed he really shouldn’t be calling the kettle black. He knew didn’t look ready to win some body building championship himself, either. For several minutes he did not say anything to get the man’s attention, wondering what exactly had kept an unknown stranger at his bedside when he was out of it. Come to think of it, why had he brought him here, how had he found him, _what did he want?_

Athos sighed, rubbing his eyes with two fingers. Except the first line, everything else on the form was completely blank. It was a patient record form and he was filling it for d’Artagnan. Problem was, other than his name he knew nothing about the boy. He decided to leave it alone for now and glanced up to find a pair of watchful eyes studying him.

“Hi.” He smiled, caught unaware. “How long have you been awake?”

“Not long,” d’Artagnan rasped, his voice sounding like crushed glass. Athos winced and got up to hold the glass of water on the sidetable to the boy’s lips. He took a sip, and laid back, simply watching him.

Athos felt like he was being stripped to the bone, under the examining heavy gaze. But he did not back down, hoping that d’Artagnan found whatever it was that he was looking for. The boys expression remain unchanged but he was the one who looked away first, glancing at the papers in Athos’ hand. “Work?”

Athos looked down, not understanding what he was talking about before shaking his head. “No, no.” He laid the papers on the table. “They are your patient forms, you can tell me what to put in them later.”

Whatever he was expecting at this not so subtle request for some personal information it wasn’t the sudden look of utter panic and _fear_ which dominated the boy’s face as he sat up in a single motion before moaning in pain when he jarred his shoulder.

“D’Art, don’t move that fast, you’ll pull out the stitches!” Athos grabbed the boy gently by the shoulders and was about to lower him back on the bed. But d’Artagnan grasped the front of his shirt instead, hands clenching the fist with a strength that surprised Athos.

“Did you put in my name? Did you tell them who I was?”

There was a terrible intensity in his eyes as they glistened with teas of pain, holding a raw unbridled terror in them that Athos found himself wanting to envelop the kid in his arms and just hold him until that look went away. He settled for placing a hand on d’Artagnan’s and another cupping his cheek.

“Kid, I haven’t given them anything yet. If you don’t want them to know your name, then they won’t know your name. They won’t even know you exist, if that would make you happy.” He paused to make sure that d’Artagnan understood. “Now please, lie down. I’ll call the nurse for the pain.”

D’Artagnan nodded, the fear diminishing from his face as he allowed himself to be settled back on the pillows. He did not let go of Athos’s shirt though, until Athos himself gently peeled his hands off, laying his arms on his sides and brushing a hand through his hair. D’Artagnan’s eyes closed but his uneven breathing told him that he had not gone to sleep.

Athos settled back into the chair, his eyes fixed on the kid in the bed and he wondered at his own surprising behavior. He hadn’t felt this protective of anyone since Tom.

He had thought that he had lost the ability to care for someone to that extent with Tom’s death.

It seemed that the boy would not stop surprising him anytime soon.

After a long silence, d’Artagnan spoke again, his eyes remaining closed. “I have an uncle. After my father died, he inherited the estate and came over to live in the house. I ran away a few months later.” He opened his eyes to look at Athos. “If he finds out where I am, he’ll send people looking for me.”

Never had he thought that he could hate with such a ferocity as Athos felt then, for this uncle he had never met, but because of whom d’Artagnan had looked so terrified. But the kid was talking to him, and Athos was nothing if he wasn’t a very good lawyer who knew exactly how to press to get information. “How long ago was this?”

“I was thirteen when dad was murdered,” came the quiet answer. A year, two at most then. That’s how long d’Artagnan had been living on the streets.

“I lived off my friends for a while, but then he came looking so I had to leave school and cut off everyone I knew,” d’Artagnan’s voice sounded like as if he was talking about someone other than himself. Detached and distant.

Athos mused on the information. D’Artagnan wasn’t the pitiable but not so rare case of a child abandoned to the streets, he had taken to them as a means of escape from something much worse. Athos did not think he really wanted to know what the uncle had done to cause a thirteen year old kid to run away. “What’s your uncle’s name?”

D’Artagnan opened his eyes and stared at him, suddenly cold and distrusting. “Why?”

“I’m a lawyer. Perhaps I can look into his affairs, find some legal loophole to get you your home back.” Athos explained.

D’Artagnan remained quiet and when it became apparent that he wasn’t going to give Athos the name, Athos nodded. “It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

D’Artagnan shook his head as if to clear it of some confusion. “Why are you helping me?”

Athos had rather hoped he wouldn’t be asked that question. He didn’t really know why, to be honest.

Perhaps he saw in the young life so full of innocence and potential something that he once had a lifetime ago; perhaps it was because he was so much like Tom, young and naïve; perhaps because he just wanted to fix someone else’s life if not his own. Perhaps he just had a Messiah complex and was an arrogant idiot.

None of which he could say to the young boy and not wound his pride. He settled for an eloquent shrug of the shoulders, “I’m a nice guy…?” he suggested as a possible answer.

An eyebrow was raised, “The last nice guy I trusted tried to chop off all my fingers.”

The cold detached statement had Athos stealing a glance at d’Artagnan’s hands to make sure it wasn’t lacking any finger. This time Athos let some of the hot flare of anger it give birth to seep through his calm façade. “Tell me his name and I will cut off his hands, so he doesn’t threaten anyone like that again.”

“There you go again.”

Athos sighed. The kid had a point. “I don’t know why. But I don’t want you to be hurt. Is that such a bad thing?”

D’Artagnan stared at him, incredulous. “You don’t know me from any random street thug who would rob you blind and slit your throat in your sleep!”

“Look, there really is no need to put everything under a microscope.” Athos was quickly running out of ideas. He wondered if he should have kept his big gob shut. Aramis would have handled this so much better. Even Porthos who was infamous as a lawyer of few words, would get through better than him. D’Artagnan seemed intent on pushing him into one corner after another, making him examine things and _feelings_ he would rather leave alone.

It was slightly infuriating.

“You aren’t in the best place right now, it happens. Sometimes life sucks. I’m offering you a better option. Why wouldn’t you take it?”

D’Artagnan glared. “I’m not some charity case that you can just take in. I would rather prefer to live alone than be at some stranger’s mercy.”

Athos cringed at the proud statement. “Jesus kid, you really aren’t making this easy, are you?”

D’Artagnan tried to continue glaring at the other man. Who was he to think that he could just offer him a better life on a silver platter and he would meekly accept it? But the exasperated look on the older man’s face reminded him so much of the expression his father used to get when he was particularly fed up arguing the same point over and over and just wanted to get it over with, that he couldn’t help the soft smile that followed the memory.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice quiet. Whatever Athos had done, he had done nothing but help him. Barring the fact that he was going slightly overboard with the protectiveness, it had been a long time since d’Artagnan had someone looking out for him. He kind of missed the feeling.

Athos looked surprise at the change in demeanor and raised his eyebrows in question.

“My father used to say the exact same thing when I started getting on his last nerve.” D’Artagnan did not meet his eyes as he explained and Athos smiled. Whoever he had been, d’Artagnan’s father had done a fine job raising his son in what little time he was given with him. And the boy clearly seemed to respect and love the deceased man if the wistful tone was anything to go by.

“Let’s not argue about stuff just yet,” Athos suggested, a peace offering. He sat down on the chair and leaned back. “Rest now.” He suddenly sat up straight. “And please, please don’t sneak away again. I really don’t want to find you half dead in a ditch someplace a month from now.”

“Hey!” d’Artagnan protested, though his heart wasn’t in it. His eyes were getting heavier, the pain meds doing their job, “I was handling it just fine before you barged in.”

Athos smiled at him sleepily. “Yeah, whatever makes you happy kid.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Athos finds out something of d'Artagnan's past.

"So word on the street is that you have taken in a stray."

Treville had taken Athos out for their customary once a month lunch. Being an ex-military man himself, a retired captain, he looked at the people under him as soldiers under his command and Athos as his first lieutenant, though he had never said so in so many words.

Thus every month, under the guise of some case well done, or some client made happy or just a brusque 'we are having lunch today' text, Treville took Athos out to lunch. This time it was to one of Paris' newer restaurants though Athos had already eaten there with a client before. It wasn't very expensive or selective, but the food was remarkable and the service satisfactory.

The lunch was supposed to be a monthly report, a debrief of all that was happening in the higher circles that Athos wasn't privy to but which Treville frequented and thought that Athos should know about if he was to succeed him one day, a way for Treville to keep up with the inner office politics which Athos was privy to and which Treville did not have any exposure to, and an informal catching up of an old protégé and his mentor.

Athos had mixed feelings about the lunch. But then he usually had mixed feelings about most of the things related to Treville. He trusted the man with his life, but damn if he could understand how his mind worked.

Athos took his time cutting up the succulent beef steak that he had ordered. "Where did you hear that?" he asked, once he was done, holding up the piece he had cut with his fork.

"Aramis kept talking about some d'Artagnan. I asked who he was and he told me." Treville said, grinning.

Athos grunted. Word on the street, his ass. Not many people were in Athos' inner circle, none actually except Treville, his two friends and now d'Artagnan. And Athos had been very careful about who knew of d'Artagnan.

"What do you know about him?"

Athos looked at the man sharply, "Enough to know that he is worth my time and effort. I trust him."

Treville nodded, "You are the best judge of character I know Athos. I am not going to warn you about getting too close to someone who can rob you blind the moment you let your guard down."

Athos narrowed his eyes: for someone _not_ warning him, Treville's words were a little too thought out.

"But have you decided what he is to do?"

"He is too young to work. He's just fifteen," Athos said, focusing on his meal.

"But what about school then? He probably doesn't have an education if he was homeless at fifteen and he could use one," Treville suggested.

"I've thought of that." Athos put down his fork and sighed. "But there is the matter of not being his legal guardian. How can I put him in a school where they'll ask for paperwork and his documents?"

"So write up the paperwork, become his legal guardian." Treville looked at him intently. Athos was silent. It wasn't that simple. He had actually written up the paperwork quite some time ago. But d'Artagnan was in the custody of his uncle at the moment, a man that Athos had found to be a known violent drunk who was in the record for intoxicated driving. D'Artagnan's father had legally left everything to his brother, including the custody of his son, until d'Artagnan came of age. It would be a simple matter to get a judge to rule in favor of transferring custody to Athos. That was not what worried Athos.

It was d'Artagnan. The boy had settled down in an easy routine of getting his health on track and started relaxing around him and the guys. He wanted to give it some time, maybe have the boy open up to him himself about why he had left home and all that, before springing this on him. For him, it was just a piece of paper, he had already assumed total responsibility of the kid, and it wouldn't bind him to anything he wasn't prepared for. But Athos suspected d'Artagnan would not be so dismissive about the matter.

Treville studied the man across the table who had gone silent, lost in his own thoughts. "Alright, if you don't want to do that yet, I know the principal of the school in your area. I can talk to him about your boy if you want, get him to overlook the legal issues, only if you guarantee the kid won't get into any trouble."

Athos looked at the older man, startled. He had thought Treville was disapproving about the whole business but here he was helping him instead. He raised a questioning eyebrow.

"I can tell the boy has been good for you Athos. And that's really all I care about. If you are satisfied that he isn't some rogue vagabond, then that is all I need for my peace of mind." Treville explained, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

Athos nodded, his throat tightening up. He cleared it a few times before speaking, "If you can do that, it would really help. He would be able to go to school again, have friends his age, get an education." He paused and looked down at his plate. "I want to wait a while before asking him about the custody issue. I suspect he will find it quite a big deal."

"I would assume you would too." Treville said, a disapproving frown on his face.

Athos looked at him levelly. "Sir, I accepted the responsibly of having a young teenager in my care the day I decided I wasn't going to let him throw his life away by being the stubborn mule that he is and got him to stay with us. No piece of paper is going to change how I feel about him."

Treville smiled. He had expected nothing less of the noblest and most honorable man he knew.

* * *

 

Aramis had had a mild panic attack when he had found out that he would be travelling to England to attend a cousin's wedding during the week that they had found out d'Artagnan's birthday was in and that Porthos would be going with him. Athos had taken over to stop him from completely hyperventilating and instructed him to leave their present for the boy with him. He had assured them that he would take care to make the day special for d'Artagnan.

Athos remembered the lesson his father had instilled in him on his fifteenth birthday, taking him out for his first formal dinner and giving him his first personal watch. Athos had actually worn the Rolex tonight in a fit of sentimentality.

He intended to carry on the tradition.

D'Artagnan had been told to get dressed in something nice when Athos had gotten back from his office. Aramis and Porthos were away and d'Artagnan had intended to lose himself in the library he had found in the house and spent most of his time in during the days when all three of his friends were at work. But he had gotten dressed, curious at what Athos intended. No matter how completely transformed the light blue new shirt and sleek black pants that Aramis had gotten him made him feel, he had been struck with complete awe when Athos had walked out in a three piece charcoal grey suit which looked like as if it was built around him, clean shaven and looking for all the world like someone from the nobility that he very much belonged to.

Athos had studied d'Artagnan's appearance before leading him back into his own room. He had opened the closet and picked out a slim silk black tie. Turning d'Artagnan so that he was facing him, he had lifted his collar and did the collar button before wordlessly getting the tie in a perfect Windsor knot around his neck. He had brushed some imaginary dust off d'Artagnan's shoulder and stepped back to assess his work giving him a satisfied smile.

A short drive and a murmured name to the host had them bypassing the long line at the front door and being led to a quiet table in the classy restaurant. D'Artagnan was trying not to gape at the grand piano standing in the middle of the room or the ornate décor and the stylish people who were having dinner. He thought he recognized a few celebrities but he couldn't be sure. Looking at Athos who was talking with the waiter who apparently knew him, d'Artagnan raised his eyebrows. "Are we meeting someone here?"

Athos shook his head, ordering wine for both of them. "We're celebrating."

"Oh," d'Artagnan said. "Did you win an important case?"

Athos paused, taking a deep breathe. "No, we're celebrating your birthday."

There was a pregnant silence for a few moments before d'Artagnan spoke, his voice distant. "It's my birthday."

It wasn't a question, not quite. It was spoken more like a realization, cold and detached and Athos felt a sharp pang in his chest.

Athos nodded, and gestured at the glass. "My father took me out on my fifteenth birthday and got me my first drink." He raised his glass, and d'Artagnan copied his movements. They clinked their glasses together.

"Happy birthday, d'Artagnan."

They drank, Athos watching d'Artagnan savor the rich taste of the rich Bordeaux before swallowing it. He set the glass back on the table, his eyes glistening and he smiled. "Thank you."

Athos bowed his head in acknowledgement and the two sat back in their seats, the tinkling of the piano and the soft clatter of the china and the murmur of conversation from the other diners the only sounds for a while.

"So I see you're making use of my father's extensive collection of books," Athos said, taking the offered menu from the waiter, who stood nearby with his hands clasped in front of him to take the order.

"Yea, there are so many books in your library, it passes the time." D'Artagnan was looking unsurely at the names of the dishes and was relieved when Athos placed an order for both of them.

"Anything in particular that you enjoy?"

D'Artagnan nodded eagerly. "Nonfictionally speaking, that's historical books. History always used to be my favorite subject at school."

"All the battles and fights get your interest?" Athos asked grinning.

"That, and the political intricacies and the huge variety of customs and traditions and… Something my father once said, there's always something new to surprise you when you read of the old."

"Your father sounds like a wise man."

D'Artagnan nodded, a wistful smile on his face. "He was. Extremely kind and noble too. I haven't forgotten a single thing he taught me."

Athos wanted to wipe that painful sadness away from the young boy's face and he refrained from pressing the topic further. "What about fiction?"

D'Artagnan looked confused before visibly shaking himself away from wherever his memories had taken him. "Yes, in fiction. There aren't a lot of the contemporary novels in the library, but back when lived at home, I had started with the Lord of the Rings Trilogy. I'm finishing it now. I love all that I've read so far."

"We don't get so much time to update that library as we would like," Athos said. "And what books I do want to read I simply get them for the go on my reader."

D'Artagnan nodded, "Nothing beats the feel of a worn out well loved paperback though."

Athos smiled and nodded. "I have to talk to you about something." Just then the waiter arrived with their meals, setting down their plates with a flourish and topping their wine glasses. D'Artagnan looked unsurely at the ornately presented food but Athos picked up his fork and dug right in. After a moment, d'Artagnan followed and the waiter left.

D'Artagnan raised an eyebrow in question, not speaking with his mouth full. Athos paused to wipe at the corner of his lip and continued, "How would you like to get back to school. Finish off high school, so you can start thinking about universities?"

D'Artagnan stared at his plate quietly for so long that Athos thought he had said something to upset him. When he looked up though there were distinct tears in his eyes. "After dad… After he passed away, leaving home was only a question of when I decided enough was enough with my uncle, but I never wanted to leave school. I thought I could stay with my friends, circulating between them and continue to go to school, but that plan was short lived when my uncle and his people turned up at one of their houses looking for me, asking my friends if they knew where I was.

"I had to leave then, or risk being found out by my uncle. I never thought I would be able to go back, start again…" d'Artagnan looked away and wiped at his eyes, smiling shakily. "Athos, I would very much love to go to school again, but there is the small matter of my documents and everything. My uncle is supposed to be my guardian, he would never allow it."

Athos had to take a moment to unclench his fingers from the fork he had been trying to mangle between them. He felt like strangling this uncle that had so completely destroyed such a promising young man's life. He had read up on Henri Phillips, a thirty five year old man whom he was sure he could nail to the wall legally if he looked into his affairs. But that wasn't what Athos wanted to do. No, what he _wanted_ , what every fiber of his body screamed at him to do, was to march up to the disgusting man, hold him by the throat, and _squeeze_ until he felt the bones breaking beneath his fingers and the life going out of him.

"What if I found a way to work around that?" he asked instead, not wanting to let the kid know how upset he was at the brief glimpse into his past. If he started showing how much any details of the horrors that d'Artagnan had to experience at such a young age affected him, d'Artagnan would never open up to him. Recently he had taken to mentioning something about his father or letting slip some tid bit of information about his previous life, before living on the streets in conversations and Athos did not want him to stop.

Despite the pain it caused, he knew that talking about his father was the only way he could remember his time with him. It reminded Athos of how his own father had always talked to him about Athos' mother, who had died when he was an infant. Athos wanted d'Artagnan to remember what his own father was like.

D'Artagnan smiled, "Then that would be the best birthday present ever."

Athos looked at him in exasperation. "That isn't the birthday present you idiot. He took out a case from an inner pocket in his coat. "This is."

D'Artagnan looked at the sleek long black case, not making any move to pick it up. "Go on, open it," Athos prompted.

D'Artagnan put down his fork and knife and picked it up. He opened it, his face going from surprised to awe and gratitude to apologetic and he looked up.

"If you say you can't take it, I'll kick you under the table." Athos warned when he saw the boy was about to speak. "And in a place such as this, that is heavily frowned upon." He took the case from d'Artagnan's hand, and taking hold of his left hand, fastened the watch around his wrist. It was a vintage, but nothing too fancy, a Longine Quartz. Athos wanted the kid to be able to wear the thing instead of just keeping it in a case in his closet like he had had to do with his Rolex. Those kind of gifts can be given later.

"It's… it's perfect. Thank you," d'Artagnan said, his voice barely above a whisper. Athos nodded in acceptance and picked up his fork again. D'Artagnan continued to examine the watch, the black strap contrasting vividly with his pale wrist, and the silver dial catching the lights in the restaurant. He had stopped asking why the man sitting across him cared so much, but this was… this was so above and beyond what anyone had ever done for him that he did not have the words to tell him what he meant.

D'Artagnan studied the other man and noticed the rare contended satisfied smile playing on his lips as he cut into the pieces of meat on his plate. D'Artagnan watched until Athos caught him staring before looking away.

"What is it?" Athos asked.

"Nothing, I… Have I told you how much I appreciate how much you are doing for me?"

Athos chuckled. "No, not even once," he replied. "You definitely do not thank me six thousand times every day, that's just my imagination at work." He looked at the blushing kid and continued on in a mockingly stern voice, "Really d'Art, one would imagine you don't consider us friends with the amount of politeness you execute with us. What have we done to deserve this kind of atrocious behavior?"

D'Artagnan grinned at that and Athos smiled in return. The smile became a smirk as he took out another item from his pocket. "Aramis and Porthos send their best wishes. They left this for you." He put down the sleek white mobile on the table and pushed it towards d'Artagnan.

D'Artagnan looked at the phone in surprise before sighing exasperatedly. "God Thos, you people need to stop getting me stuff. At this rate I would turn into a spoilt brat very soon." Athos simply grinned and d'Artagnan picked up the phone. It was already switched on and the screen flickered to life, a picture of Aramis and Porthos with a garish Happy Birthday set as the wallpaper. He grinned at the alert that popped up: 'It's better than the stupid watch right?' d'Artagnan took a second to flip through the apps that one of the duo had put in, before keeping it back down.

"Each of our numbers are already programmed into the contact list," Athos said, watching d'Artagnan loosely. "So what do you think?"

"It's great," d'Artagnan said with a smile. Athos shook his head.

"No, what do you think? _Is_ it better than the watch?" Athos asked, and d'Artagnan looked at his wrist again. The phone was a nice gift, it was one of the most recent models with all the bells and whistles and was certainly useful.

But the watch was from Athos. It was perfect.

Athos must have read the answer on his face because he grinned triumphantly. "I told him. I told him not to bet against me."

D'Artagnan stared at him in surprise and Athos explained. "Aramis bet that you would appreciate a practical thing like the phone a lot more that the watch. He doesn't think you're one for sentimental value and all that."

D'Artagnan grinned, "Well, it seems that you've won then."

Athos hummed happily.

Dessert was an intensely amusing affair with d'Artagnan swooning everytime he had a spoonful of the crème Brûlée and after a short while later they were making their way back. Athos parked the car in the driveway and got out. "Let's go for a walk," he suggested. "I don't want to go inside yet."

"Wow, this is starting to feel like quite the date." D'Artagnan grinned causing Athos to roll his eyes.

"You're mistaking me for Aramis." He cuffed the boy lightly at the back of his head. "You're perfectly safe with me."

"I know." D'Artagnan said quietly, and Athos smiled.

The night was beautiful, if a little chilly. The cold air wasn't at the biting intensity yet and the sky was clear of any impending clouds. Athos put his hands in his trouser pockets, having given the coat to d'Artagnan as soon as they had left the restaurant to keep off the chill. They walked down the street in easy silence, crossing the block.

D'Artagnan felt completely and utterly happy, a feeling of contentment he had never thought he would experience again settled deep inside his bones and it showed on the soft smile that stayed on his lips as he walked. Athos was glad to find no trace of the wistful sadness or the melancholic bitterness or worst of all the distrust which had so frequently made itself known when he had first started living with them. The kid was getting better, and once he started school and was around people his own age, Athos was sure it would do even more good.

The duo kept walking, Athos commenting on random things every now and then and d'Artagnan simply agreeing happily. Athos had just decided that they should probably turn back when a commotion down one of the alleyways caught his attention. A couple of young boys were clutching each other helplessly staring with wide frightened eyes at the big man who had a gun pointed at them. Athos clenched his fists angrily and started making his way towards them.

"Thos no!" a hand grabbed Athos's arm tight enough to bruise and Athos stopped in his tracks. He turned to find d'Artagnan staring at him fearfully with wide eyes. "Please, let's just go."

He extracted his arm from the deathly grasp, and nodded, "This won't take more than a minute. Don't worry, I'll be fine."

Ignoring the protesting look on the younger man's face he turned around and walked down the alley to the man with the gun who had his back towards him. "Hey asshole!" he called out, causing the man to turn away from the couple who remained too rooted in fear to run. "Pick on someone your own size, you spineless dick."

A low growl sounded from the big man who towered above Athos. "Mind your own business, shithead. This doesn't concern you."

"Oh, that's exactly where you are wrong." Athos waited until the gun was pointing at him before lashing out, grabbing it and turning it away, kneed the man hard in the stomach and punched him in the face as he went down.

A shot rang out, an instinctive pull of the trigger but the bullet did not hit anything. Athos had made sure the gun had been pointing away. He picked up the gun from the slack grip of the moaning man and hit him on the head with hard enough to knock him out cold. Athos turned towards the couple, and asking if they were alright, gestured for them to get out of there. He then took out his phone and dialed the police relaying his address and telling them to expect a drunken, knocked out mugger lying in the street.

He put the phone back in his pocket and made his way back to where he had left d'Artagnan. The boy stood rooted to the ground, eyes wide and unfocussed and body trembling slightly. Athos frowned at the look on his face. He reached out with a hand intending to touch the younger man's shoulder.

The boy flinched and closed his eyes. Athos froze.

"D'Art?"

The boy started shaking uncontrollably and Athos reached out again, alarmed at the sudden change in behavior. D'Artagnan pushed him away with so much force that Athos almost lost his footing. "Get away from me!"

There was a look of wild panic on the young face, twisting the boy's features into a grotesque expression of unadulterated fear. It was an expression Athos never wanted to see on his face again.

He didn't know what to do so he stayed back, raising up his hands. "D'Art, please, it's me." He spoke softly, soothingly. "What's wrong? Talk to me."

Slowly, d'Artagnan eyes focused on Athos and recognition seemed to flicker across his face. He stared at the older man, a sob escaping from his lips. Athos immediately closed the distance between them, pulling the deflating boy into a tight hug. "Hush, hush, it's okay. It's okay. I've got you."

Sobs racked the kid's body as he buried his face into Athos' chest. Athos rocked them back and forth, whispering calming things in his ear, even though he had no idea what had brought on this panic attack.

It was several minutes before the sobs subsided and d'Artagnan's breathing evened out. "Alright?" Athos asked softly, his chin resting on the younger boy's head. He felt the kid nod and slowly stepped back so that he could see him.

He wanted to ask but he thought better of it when he saw the still slightly off balance look in d'Artagnan's eyes. "Come on, let's go home."

They walked back slowly, Athos keeping a hand around d'Artagnan's shoulders throughout, and it was a very quiet duo who returned back to the house. Athos helped him out of the coat and led him to one of the couches before making him sit. He went into the kitchen and fixed up a hot chocolate in record timing wanting to get back to the boy as soon as possible. Glass in hand he walked back out to find d'Artagnan sitting with his legs on the couch, his chin resting on his knees, his arms around them, hugging himself. Athos kept the glass on the table in front of him and sat beside him in the sofa.

They sat quietly for several minutes, Athos knowing that d'Artagnan would talk only when he wanted to. Sure enough, a few minutes later the boy spoke, his voice raw and broken.

"I'm sorry."

Athos put a hand on the kid's back. "Don't be. It's okay." He rubbed soothing circles on his back. "Do you want to talk about it?"

D'Artagnan started to shake his head automatically before stopping and turning to look at Athos. Athos met his gaze steadily, recognizing this to be the same quiet scrutiny d'Artagnan had stared at him with in the first few weeks. After several tense seconds, d'Artagnan nodded and closed his eyes. Athos leaned forward and picked up the glass from the table.

It was still hot. He held it out to the boy who took it after a moment's hesitation. He took a small sip before taking a longer one and putting the glass back down. Athos smiled at the white frothy mustache the kid was unaware he was sporting.

D'Artagnan took a deep breath and Athos sobered up. "When I was thirteen, I was walking back home with my dad. It had been a great day, we had hung out on the park with a couple of my friends and played catch before having pizza. Dad had seemed to like my friends and I was feeling great. It was getting dark and I suggested we take a shortcut I had found a few days ago while cycling." D'Artagnan looked at Athos, his eyes tearing up. "If only I hadn't said that…"

Athos squeezed his knee quietly and d'Artagnan wiped at his eyes before continuing. "We were stopped by this man, a big dangerous looking. He had a wild look in his eyes, as if he was high on something and he pulled out a gun demanding that dad give him his wallet. Dad tried to calm him down, he was waving the gun around. 'Son,' dad called him, 'keep that thing away and we can talk.' He started screaming then, telling dad to empty out his pockets and give him his wallet. Dad nodded and reached inside his coat to get his wallet. That must have spooked the man or something because the next thing I know is that there is a loud noise and my ears are ringing and the man is nowhere to be found and my dad is sprawled out on the ground lying in a puddle of his own blood, blood oozing from his chest…"

D'Artagnan broke off, and a sob escaped. The tears were streaming steadily down his face but Athos didn't think the kid knew he was crying. His heart clenched painfully in his chest as he recalled what had happened in the alleyway earlier.

D'Artagnan looked at him, his eyes begging for him to understand. "When you walked up to that man, and there was that gunshot and… and after having another great day, I just… it was –"

Athos wordlessly pulled the rambling boy into another hug, his own breath quickening at how much of an idiot he had been. His actions had brought back such a painful memory for the boy, but that hadn't been what had brought about the panic attack. The kid had been terrified for _him_ , scared that he would lose him too.

He tightened his grip around the boy who had remained rigid for a second before relaxing into his hold. Athos' hand found its way to d'Artagnan's dark hair and Athos closed his eyes. The thought of losing the kid was too much for him to bear and if d'Artagnan felt anywhere near as strongly about him, then he must have been terrified.

"Son, I'm not going anywhere," Athos said. "You are never going to lose me."

He felt more than saw d'Artagnan shake his head, his voice muffled when he spoke, "Promise?"

"I promise." Athos wasn't one to make empty promises. If he gave his word about something he stood by it no matter what happened. D'Artagnan must have realized that about him by now because he pulled out of the hug and gave the other man a small smile.

Athos smiled back, relieved that the message had been received loud and clear. D'Artagnan picked up the glass of hot chocolate again and drained the rest in one gulp wiping his mouth at the back of his hand.

"I'm sorry I spoiled a good day."

Athos groaned. "I swear we should have a rule around the house about incessant sorrys and thankyous." He ruffled d'Artagnan's hair who tried to move away to escape him. "At this rate, you'll drive even patient souls like us up the wall." He grinned before turning somber. "There is nothing to be sorry for. Thank you for telling me about your father. I'm sure he will be very proud of you if he saw you right now."

D'Artagnan looked at him with such gratitude and _love_ at the statement that Athos' breath hitched. He had never been on the receiving end of such an intense gaze before. He cleared his throat and spoke, his voice gruff with emotion. "Now go on, get out of that shirt before you ruin it completely."

D'Artagnan nodded before looking pointedly at Athos' own shirt. It _was_ completely ruined with wet stains on the front where d'Artagnan's tears had soaked through. "You're one to talk." He grinned before picking up the glass and dodging the cushion that Athos threw easily, walked away to the kitchen. Athos leaned back on the couch and closed his eyes.

There were a lot of things which could make a liar out of him and make him break his word, the foremost on the list being the looming threat of the uncle's custodial rights of the boy. Soon, he decided, soon he would get d'Artagnan to sign the adoption papers.

Then no judge, jury or even God himself would be able to take d'Artagnan away from the comfort and safety of Athos' house.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> D'Artagnan goes back to school. Athos and the guys get a new case.

“Get up, get up, get up!” Aramis pounded on d’Artagnan’s door at six o clock in the morning. “You don’t want to be late, do you?”

Athos opened the door to his room and stepped out, glaring blearily at Aramis. “He doesn’t have to go and clean the school first, let him sleep for a while longer.”

Before Aramis could reply the door to d’Artagnan’s room opened and he stepped out fully dressed. Athos stared at him, managing to look sufficiently surprised to make the boy blush while Aramis beamed.

“I couldn’t sleep, I’ve been awake for a while now,” d’Artagnan admitted. Aramis clamped a hand on his shoulder and led him out to the hall.

“Well then my lad, let’s get some breakfast in you before we break out the camera.”

“What?” d’Artagnan turned towards him, incredulous. “Tell me you’re not thinking of taking pictures.” Aramis simply chuckled in response. “You know, I have been to school before. This isn’t actually my first day.”

“Oh hush you!” Aramis chided, lightly cuffing him on the back of his head. “Don’t be a spoilsport.”

“No, no no,” d’Artagnan said firmly, pulling away. “Athos tell him this isn’t happening,” he asked the man who had just waved a hand dismissively without looking at the pair and walked into the kitchen. Aramis grinned and sat d’Artagnan down at a stool on the counter, and d’Artagnan was hit by all the smells.

Porthos was busy cooking, humming quietly to himself. He turned to give Aramis who had walked up to him a peck on the mouth before flipping the pancake that was frying. D’Artagnan looked around, getting mildly sick. There were omelets and pancakes and toast and sausages and it looked like Porthos had cooked an entire month’s worth of breakfast.

“Umm guys?” he asked hesitantly. “Are we expecting an army to drop by?”

Porthos carefully transferred the pancake to a plate already piled high with them and added it to the display on the counter. He chuckled and Aramis grinned. “He doesn’t learn does he?” he asked talking to Aramis.

D’Artagnan groaned and turned towards Athos who sat down on the stool beside him. Athos saw the panicked expression on the boy’s face and smiled. “Just eat,” he said his voice low enough that only d’Artagnan can hear. “Porthos cooks to calm his nerves.”

D’Artagnan glanced at the man in question. Porthos was getting another two slices of bread from the toaster and as d’Artagnan watched he pinched Aramis’ bum when the latter tried to steal the slices. D’Artagnan looked at Athos a silent eyebrow raised in question. Athos helped himself to a pancake and poured some maple syrup on it. “He has been steadily freaking out about you going to school since yesterday.”

D’Artagnan nodded and dug in, his own stomach in knots. He was touched that the older man cared enough to be nervous but was too anxious himself to eat too much.

“Right,” Aramis said, sitting at a stool across d’Artagnan. “Don’t steal away all the guys’ girlfriends on the first day itself.” He helped himself to a pancake before shaking fork at d’Artagnan who rolled his eyes. “The boys won’t appreciate that. Just settle for five or six at the maximum.”

“And if any of those empty headed jocks who think they are better than everyone else try and give you any trouble, aim for the groin,” Porthos added.

“No one’s going to give you any trouble. The school has strict standards on such things.” Athos narrowed his eyes at the other two sitting across from them. He turned to d’Artagnan and took out a letter. “Find the principal and give this to him. I’ve already called him and told him about the two years you’ve missed. He’ll give you your class schedule and anything else that you need.”

D’Artagnan nodded and took the letter silently. After pushing down a slice of toast on threat of being force fed by Porthos, he found himself being manhandled into position by Aramis, who had gotten a ridiculously large camera from somewhere and was fixing up the protesting teenager’s hair. D’Artagnan looked around for Athos to ask him to rescue him but the lawyer had gone inside to get ready, so that he could drop d’Artagnan off on his way to the office.

“Right, now say ‘cheese!’” Aramis called out, and d’Artagnan glared as the flash from the camera blinded him for a second. “Athos, hurry up!” Aramis called over his shoulder.

Athos came out, ready in his three piece suit, carrying his briefcase in one hand and d’Artagnan’s bag in the other. “Aramis let the lad go. You’ll make him late.”

Aramis gestured for Porthos to grab Athos, unwilling to release d’Artagnan from the deathly grip he had around his shoulders so that the young man couldn’t act on his plan of hiding behind Athos. “Shut up and come here Athos.”

The four of them stood together, staring at the camera on automatic setting and watched the light blink rapidly in countdown as the picture was taken. D’Artagnan wiped off the scowl from his face and smiled at the last second, causing Aramis to grin happily.

D’Artagnan walked over to the camera and picking it up, clicked a photo of Porthos and Aramis, the former with his arm around the shorter man’s waist, with Aramis eyes tilted towards his lover, and Porthos staring into his eyes, mumbling something softly causing Aramis to smile widely. They made the perfect picture of a happy couple and d’Artagnan grinned at them cheekily when they looked at him, surprised by the flash. “That one’s for me.”

Athos rolled his eyes and checked his watch with a pointed cough. D’Artagnan took his bag from the older man and putting on his sneakers followed him to the Audi outside.

The drive was short and not really necessary: d’Artagnan could have easily walked to the school which was only a few blocks away, but Athos had insisted and there wasn’t anything d’Artagnan refused the lawyer.

Sure enough after only a few minutes of driving, Athos was stopping the car. He turned to the boy and stopped him from getting out with a hand on his shoulder. “Wait,” he said before looking through his pockets. He took out a key on a silver keychain and held it out towards d’Artagnan. “This is yours. I’ll try to stop by the house in the afternoon but you can let yourself in if I’m not there.”

D’Artagnan looked at the offered key and then at the older man. He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Whenever he thought that he was sure of where he stood with Athos, the man went and did something like this. It was like he was determined to tear down every wall that d’Artagnan had constructed and hid behind during two of the worst years of his life.

Athos seemed to understand the unspoken million _thankyous_ because he nodded and cleared his throat. “Go on now, have fun.” He gave the teenager a little push and d’Artagnan got out of the door smiling.

The school was a long double storey building with similar ones on either side, enclosing a grassy field within, with a parking lot to the side. There were a lot of kids standing around, talking to their friends in small groups of threes or fours. School hasn’t started yet which d’Artagnan supposed was a good thing, it would give him enough time to talk to the principal and get to his first period in time.

Taking a deep breath, he walked forwards.

* * *

 

Aramis was reading the file on his desk. He was most definitely not stealing glances at the way Porthos was sucking the end of a pencil propped between his teeth, his tongue glistening through every now and then, a little bit of saliva making his lips shine invitingly.

No Aramis was most definitely _not_ staring.

Well, maybe a little.

Treville had assigned the same case to both of them, giving them a rare chance to work together and they were going over the piles of files that the case entailed in Porthos’ office.

At least Porthos was, his eyes not leaving the file in his hand, sitting across Aramis with the desk between them. Aramis was trying very hard to concentrate on anything _other_ than the hard on he was trying to ignore.

Porthos sucked in his cheeks, holding the pencil still and stretched his hands behind his head, the shirt going taut over his defined shoulders and chest. He had taken off the coat a long time ago and had even rolled up his sleeves. He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand and brought it down to pop open his collar button. The fingers continued slowly downwards opening another, and then another.

A low feral growl escaped Aramis’ lips.

Porthos looked up at the man and grinned. “Took you long enough, I was starting to feel neglected.”

“I’ll show you how ridiculous that statement is if you lock the door and close the blinds,” Aramis managed to grit out. He shifted a little as Porthos got up to do as he had said, and when the larger man turned back from drawing the blinds, he found a very undone Aramis attack his lips hungrily.

Porthos moaned, fighting for dominance for a moment before giving in and letting the other man completely ravish his mouth. He had after all been giving all the _come hither_ signals to his boyfriend for the past hour.

Aramis’ tongue was both hot and wild as he kissed Porthos furiously, moaning into his mouth when the other man slipped a thigh between his legs. He rubbed himself against the leg shamelessly, hands undoing more buttons and pulling the shirt out of Porthos’ pants before fumbling at the flier.

He was too much of a wreck to continue though and it was Porthos who pushed him back with one hand on his chest until the back of his knees hit the desk and he leaned back. “How would you like me to fuck you on this desk?” Porthos whispered in his tear while undoing his pants. “Bend you over and pound into you so _hard_ that your screams tell the whole office exactly how _thoroughly_ we are investigating the case?”

Aramis moaned, head thrown back, his rock hard cock throbbing almost painfully with arousal. “Oh God, Porthos…”

“Just Porthos darling, no need to be so formal.”

Aramis scowled at him, the message clear. _Too much talking and too less fucking._

Porthos laughed at the wanton look in his lover’s eyes before undoing Aramis’ flier and pulling the boxers down enough to give him access to his cock. He took the hard member in his hand and Aramis arched his back.

“P’thos.” Aramis whispered, completely shattered. Porthos grinned at the soft mewl, the sound going straight to his own cock. He made a fist around Aramis’ cock and squeezed.

Aramis gasped, stars erupting in his vision and closed his eyes. “Fuck, God…”

“Now that is blasphemy love,” he said taking his own cock out with his free hand and lined the two up. His hand stroked both their lengths together, not quite fitting around them both and Aramis thrust into his grasp, his lips in such a kissable pout at not getting enough friction that Porthos closed the distance between them while his hand continued its work. The kiss was so full of unbridled desire and _need_ that Porthos could feel his knees going weak. He leaned against Aramis who was pushed back on the desk, his hand not stopping for a single second and kissed him again. It was all too soon before Aramis’ needy keen broke the kiss and he came, the pulse of his cock against Porthos’ setting off his orgasm as well. Both of them came together, head thrown back and Porthos sagged on top of Aramis for a moment of utter _bliss_.

He came to himself by a pounding on the door. Porthos looked at the mess in horror, mind unable to come up with what to do to avoid getting caught literally with his pants down. He looked at Aramis in panic, but Aramis was already reaching out for the tissues. The man worked swiftly, cleaning up both of them before tucking himself back into his pants and zipping them up and Porthos did the same. Both their pants were black so the slight stains weren’t evident but Porthos’ shirt was a light blue. A light blue which had a dark stain _right_ in the front. Aramis threw Porthos his coat and waited a beat to collect himself before opening the door.

A very unamused Athos stood outside, his hand raised to knock again. He pushed past Aramis without comment and walked in the room a file in hand. “The police have caught this guy for illegal trespassing on private property. They suspect however that he has several robberies and a couple of murders under his belt and we need to nail them on him. There’s a time frame so this needs to be done fast.”

“But we were going to pick d’Art from school,” Aramis protested closing the door.

“No, we aren’t. I left him a text explaining that we wouldn’t be home till later.” Athos handed each of them the files.

“Gaudet de Lark, previously incarcerated twice for DUI and suspected of twenty counts of robbery and two counts of murder.” Porthos looked at the attached picture. “He is quite the looker too.”

Athos nodded. “I’m going to talk to the lead detective on the case. I’m pulling you two to work on this. We need this guy, boys. So focus please.” He started walking out, before pausing at the door. “Aramis I would advise you to invest in an air freshener. It would prove to be useful.”

Aramis opened his eyes to comment but with a backward smirk, Athos was already gone. He turned to his boyfriend who smiled. “He has a point, you know,” Porthos commented. “The room does smell like as if someone just had a thorough shag.”

Aramis’ cock twitched at the glint in Porthos’ eyes but he mentally slapped himself. They had work to do.

* * *

 

D’Artagnan was more than a little lost. The teacher kept talking about things like the cosine rule and finding unknown angles and it all sounded a little like Greek to him. He had not had a problem with the first three periods on the schedule the principal had handed him after reading the letter and nodding. Physics had been fun, d’Artagnan understanding most of what the quirky Professor Charles was teaching and he had enjoyed himself thoroughly in History which followed. The novelty of being in a classroom again had kept d’Artagnan from answering all the questions that Miss Fitz asked. That and the very _very_ pretty girl sitting in the row in front of him.

She had auburn lustrous hair that mesmerized d’Artagnan when they caught the sun, contrasted beautifully with her pale skin and set off her dark eyes. She was wearing a full sleeved top with dark blue jeans and d’Artagnan thought she was the loveliest girl he had ever seen.

But now during math he was struggling to understand what exactly the sour faced Mr. Garhead was talking about. The other children seemed to be perfectly aware of what the lesson was supposed to be and most of them had started on the exercises. He looked down at his textbook. He was supposed to finish an entire section of questions that he couldn’t even read properly.

“You seem frightfully oblivious.” A soft voice from behind caused d’Artagnan to turn. It was the pretty girl from history class. He managed a smile and pointed at his textbook.

“Oh no, I just didn’t realize they teach Greek here.” He smiled at her very unladylike snort of amusement.

“It’s not very hard. Here, I’ll show you.” She took the pencil from his hand and drew a right angled triangle on the paper. “See, this side here? It’s called the hypotenuse…”

The rest of the lesson was spent in considerably less agony. D’Artagnan wasn’t quite sure he had understood everything the girl had tried to teach him but he did know one thing: he was completely and incredibly in love.

He was in love with the way a dimple appeared on only one cheek every time she smiled, and the way her eyes sparkled when d’Artagnan got a question right and the way she scrunched up her nose when he made a mistake and the way that unruly strands of red curls kept falling to her face and she kept pushing them behind her ear with the pencil.

He was in a daze when the bell rang signaling an end to the period and the start of recess. She started packing her things away, and slung her bag on one shoulder. D’Artagnan was shaken back to reality when she started walking away.

This was the woman of his dreams walking out of the door and he hadn’t even asked her name.

“Wait uhh… ma’am!” he called out, hoping she would listen.

She turned to him in surprise. “Ma’am? Really? That is so 1600s.” She grinned at his expression. “Constance, my name’s Constance.” She held out a hand and he shook it, hoping his palms weren’t too clammy.

“It’s nice to meet you, Constance. I’m d’Artagnan,” he said smiling lopsidedly. “I’m kind of new here, so walk with me to the lunch hall?”

Constance looked hesitant for a second before nodding, “Sure.”

“So you live around here?” d’Artagnan asked.

“Oh no, my house is quite a drive away from here. It’s just that all five of my brothers had studied from this school. We used to live in the area once, and mother wants me to study here too. What about you?”

“My house is just a few blocks away. I live with… my uncles.”

Constance must have noticed his hesitation and asked, “So your parents…?”

D’Artagnan sighed. “Mom died when I was a kid and my father passed away a couple of years ago.”

“I’m so sorry.” She put a hand on his arm in support and one look at the earnest eyes had d’Artagnan smiling at her.

“It’s okay. I just… haven’t been asked that since my father’s death.”

“Right,” Constance nodded in understanding. “By the way that staircase there leads to the library and that door is the nurse’s office,” she added pointing to each. “Which one are you to go to first?”

D’Artagnan looked confused and she explained. “New kids always end up in one of the two places. Either they find the classes too tough and run to the library, or they get into trouble and end up in the nurse’s clinic. So which one will it be for you?”

D’Artagnan raised his eyebrows and made a little bow. “I am glad to learn that you have lofty expectations from me.”

Constance smiled and punched his arm lightly. “I’m not being mean. It’s a fact. Ask anyone.”

They arrived at the cafeteria which was packed with students. D’Artagnan stopped for a moment, analyzing people and groups and exits automatically before Constance nudged him from behind. “Come on, hurry up and get something.”

Athos had given him enough money that he could afford to buy anything on the menu but the large breakfast Porthos had cooked and Aramis had taken pleasure in shoving down his throat did not leave d’Artagnan with much of an appetite. He settled for an apple and a juice.

He was waiting for Constance to complete her order when he felt a large hand clamp down on his shoulder. He tensed up instinctively, and it was only luck that Constance had handed him the tray of food she had gotten, so he didn’t shrug out of the grasp immediately and attack the person.

Instead he turned slowly, taking subtle deep breathes to calm himself and saw a tall pale boy with long hair standing behind him. The boy did not let go of his shoulder and d’Artagnan raised an enquiring eyebrow.

The boy did not look particularly friendly.

Constance turned the rest of her meal in hand and saw the boy. “Oh, there you are.” She looked between the two boys who were staring at each other. “Bonacieux, this is d’Artagnan. We have History and math together. He’s new.”

Bonacieux let go his shoulder and held out a hand which d’Artagnan shook fully expecting the bone crushing grip. He did not even flinch however and applied some force of his own, causing a small frown to appear on Bonacieux’s face. “D’Artagnan nice to meet you. I’m Bonacieux, and Constance and I are together in… every sense of the word.” the unctuous tone and the not so subtle hint were not lost on d’Artagnan and he shrugged.

“Likewise,” he said, deliberately not elaborating.

“So love, I see you’ve gotten your food? Let’s go to our table.” Bonacieux said to Constance, who felt the awkwardness of the situation and shot a smile at d’Artagnan.

“You’re welcome to join us if you like,” she said brightly.

“Yes, you’re _very_ welcome to join us.” Bonacieux repeated, his tone suggesting that d’Artagnan better not join them. D’Artagnan smiled.

He wasn’t intimidated by the older teenager in the slightest. Rather he found his attempts at appearing frightening and imposing to be quite hilarious. The kind of people he had rubbed shoulders with on a daily basis on the streets, Bonacieux did not hold a candle to any of them.

Still Porthos had told him to stay clear of jerks who thought they were better than anyone else and he did not want to get into a fight on his first day so he shook his head.

“I think I’m good. I’ll see you later.” He waved at the girl and she smiled back at him and walked away following Bonacieux to one of the larger tables in the middle of the cafeteria full of people. D’Artagnan’s heart clenched painfully as he saw her walk away. Why did all the pretty girls have to go out with all the jerks?

He sighed and shook his head, confused at how things worked in the world.

* * *

 

 It was a very tired trio of lawyers that trudged back home. Athos had been too exhausted to drive, having been doing that most of the day going back and forth the police station and the office, working the case. He had left his Audi in the parking lot and decided instead to get a ride with Aramis and Porthos. The couple were also uncharacteristically silent, the lack of the usual banter lulling Athos into a light sleep. He was nudged awake by Aramis when they reached the house.

It was very late and they expected d’Artagnan to have gone to bed already, but the teenager was waiting up, sprawled out on the couch with his feet propped up on the coffee table, flickering though channels. He jumped up when he heard them enter and hurried to get their briefcases and coats.

“I ordered pizza for everyone, you guys look like you can use some food.” D’Artagnan frowned taking in the exhaustion etched on all their faces. Aramis’ brightened considerably at the mention of food but Athos shook his head.

“I think I’ll just get to bed.”

D’Artagnan’s face fell slightly. “But I ordered your favorite...,” he trailed off looking so despondent that Athos groaned and nodded relenting. The huge grin on the kid’s face brought a small smile to the older man’s face and smiling at his antics he went and sat at the table.

“So how was the first day?” Porthos asked, going into the kitchen to help d’Artagnan heat up the pizza.

“Oh, it was great!” d’Artagnan’s enthusiastic reply carried out to the hall and both Aramis and Athos grinned. “It was incredible, being in a classroom again, and the teachers are all great. I got some work to do but I finished that off as soon as I reached home. I think I’ll have to work a little to catch up in the math class, otherwise it wasn’t all that hard.”

He hadn’t stopped talking while setting the table and bringing out the pizza from the microwave and sitting down. Had it been anyone else chatting constantly with so much excitement, the tired lawyers would have told them to shut up. But instead of finding the unlimited energy and exuberance annoying they found themselves enjoying this new excited talkative side of their young friend.

“You make any friends?” Aramis asked helping himself to a slice after passing the box to everyone else.

D’Artagnan nodded. “Oh yes, there was this girl, Constance. She’s great, we are in Math, History and Art together. She helped me out a little in Trigonometry and even showed me around.”

Aramis looked gleefully at Porthos and Athos. “It looks like our little puppy has found a lady friend!”

Athos rolled his eyes and Porthos nodded sagely while d’Artagnan blushed. “It’s not like that,” he mumbled not meeting their eyes.

Athos put down the slice he was holding and looked at him. So it was exactly like that. But something on the kid’s face told the older man that not everything was okay. “So you don’t think she’s the prettiest girl you’ve laid eyes upon?”

“I… do,” d’Artagnan was still not looking at him.

“Then what is the matter?” Porthos asked, his voice soft. The boy was starting to look like a wounded puppy.

“She already has a boyfriend. A douchebag named Bonacieux.”

Athos sighed and Porthos patted d’Artagnan’s arm sympathetically.

Aramis cuffed him on the back of his head. Quite hard.

Athos frowned at the man and d’Artagnan looked at him, startled.

“God, the way you say it, you make it sound like as if she’s married to the jerk.” Aramis paused as if in thought. “Though nowadays that wouldn’t make much of a difference either.” He got back to the point at Athos’ pointed throat clearing. “All you need to do is show her you’re the better catch and she’ll dump this Bonacieux fellow so hard he wouldn’t know what hit him.”

“But won’t that be fair?” d’Artagnan asked, surprised.

“Nothing’s fair in love and war, my boy,” Aramis said, nodding sagely. D’Artagnan looked unsurely at Athos.

Athos got up to get a bottle of wine and returned along with for glasses. “Aramis has a point. You seem obviously interested in her.” D’Artagnan nodded in agreement. “And hiding that interest and pretending there’s nothing won’t be fair on both of you.” He poured some wine in each of the glasses and passed them around the table.

“A toast then?” Athos said, raising his glass and looking at d’Artagnan with a smile. Porthos and Aramis raised theirs too, and after a second’s hesitation, d’Artagnan followed. “To a successful first day of school for young d’Art and his first foray into the matters of the heart. May it prove to be an exciting and fruitful adventure for you son.”

D’Artagnan blushed and smiled and Porthos grinned. “I’ll drink to that.”

All of them drained their glasses and Athos refilled Porthos’, Aramis’ and his own. The talk continued on to what d’Artagnan was doing in each subject; which was his favorite, Athos wasn’t surprised the answer was history; and whether he needed extra help, Aramis had suggested a tutor and d’Artagnan had refused though Athos made up his mind to talk to the boy privately about getting one anyway.

By the time they got around to bed, after clearing away the table and washing the plates, it was quite late. But Athos found that he didn’t mind at all when he reached his room after wishing d’Artagnan good night and setting the alarm.

He drifted off, and in what felt like ages his dreams were not of blood and death and carnage.

Instead, there was family and warmth and _love_ and d’Artagnan.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aramis takes d'Art to their office where the latter is unpleasantly surprised.

Aramis groaned and d’Artagnan looked at him in surprise.

“Porthos texted. Athos wants a file delivered nearby to where we are going,” Aramis explained. “We’ll have to make a pit stop at the office and then continue on.”

It was a cold Thursday afternoon and Aramis had picked d’Artagnan up from school, the latter having agreed to help pick out the perfect birthday present for Porthos.

D’Artagnan hadn’t been able to resist the intense earnest look that Porthos had warned him about – ‘The Stare has ruined so many ladies and started so many things, it should be listed as a dangerous weapon’ – and despite the very healthy amount of residual fear from his last shopping trip with Aramis, he had relented.

Besides he also had to pick up a gift for Porthos. He had been saving up the money that Athos gave him weekly, having absolutely no use for it other than buying a sandwich or something in school every day. There was still a large amount leftover every week. He had tried to tell Athos that, but the older man had just grinned and told him to get his lady friend something or the other.

D’Artagnan sighed at the memory. Constance wasn’t so much his lady friend as she was a very good friend who helped him out when he got lost; a week in and he still hadn’t gotten used to the long corridors of the school; and whom he helped learn for the history quizzes. She was good at Math, he had a head for History: it was a mutually beneficial friendship. That did not stop the funny feeling he got in his stomach every time he saw her or how he felt his knees going slightly weak every time she smiled at him, but yeah… She was still going out with Bonacieux.

“Oh, can I go in too?” d’Artagnan asked, eager to see where his friends worked.

Aramis brightened at that. “You haven’t seen the office? Then today can be doubly educative.”

The man had a glint in his eye that d’Artagnan absolutely did not like. “What do you mean by doubly educative?” he asked tentatively. But Aramis just grinned and switched on the radio. D’Artagnan settled back, knowing that he wouldn’t get any answers out of the lawyer. He had told him once, when d’Artagnan had wondered at their ability to change topics and dodge questions, that all three of them had undergone something called anti-interrogation training in the army. D’Artagnan had looked it up on the internet and what he had learned had kind of freaked him out until Athos had sat him down after having a shouting match with Aramis, and told him that everything on the net about special forces training was bullshit and their training, though severe had not had any dangerous effects on their psych apart from strengthening their will.

It did not fail to surprise him how these men had left the horrors of the military behind, and though he could sometimes see the signs, a comforting hand that Aramis kept on Porthos on some mornings, or how Athos really did not like the shooting games that were all the rage nowadays; they did not let what they had seen and even done, dictate their lives. They had left the army behind, Athos flippantly stating that they hadn’t actually been able to put away bad guys half the time because of the red tape involved so they had crossed over and joined those who made all these laws and rules when they realized they couldn’t fight them.

“Here we are!” Aramis’ enthusiastic exclamation brought d’Artagnan back from his musings. The car had stopped in front of a large office building with tinted windows and Aramis got out, d’Artagnan following a second later.

“This, young man, is where the hand of justice does its magic,” Aramis said with a grand wave towards the building and d’Artagnan smiled.

The duo went in, the security guard waving at Aramis who pointed at d’Artagnan and made a ‘he’s with me’ gesture. At least that’s what d’Artagnan assumed it meant.

Sometimes he had difficulty understanding his friends’ elaborate gestures. It did not fail to surprise him how all three could reduce an entire statement into a series of twisted hand signals. Porthos had told him it was an army thing. He had rolled his eyes. Of course it was.  
Aramis pressed the button for the top floor as soon as they got into the elevator and d’Artagnan was surprised at the large number of people going around doing their work when they arrived at their destination. The elevator opened into a large space which was divided into cubicles, each with a desk and computer. There were several corridors leading from the main space and it was to one of these that Aramis took him, a firm hand on his elbow, weaving through the lawyers rushing around with paper and files and coffee.

“That was the main work place for the lawyers who are good enough to be all the way up here. Porthos, Athos and myself have offices though.” Aramis explained. “Mine and Athos’ is this way, Porthos’ is on the opposite side of the floor.”

D’Artagnan smiled. The DA must be a smart man to put the couple on opposite ends of the hall; otherwise he supposed they wouldn’t have gotten much work done. Aramis noticed his smile and grinned evilly.

“Oh what the DA must never know is that we have found our way around that fact. There a few places where no one bothers to look in, and once Porthos took me to this closet which was buried so deep in the filing room that…”

D’Artagnan cut him off pointing at a random door and asking loudly, “Where does that one go?”

Aramis smirked. “That’s the kitchen thing. No one uses it except to make coffee. Well no one except -”

“Hey Aramis, can you come here a moment?” A loud voice cut off Aramis in mid speech and he turned to see a middle aged man gesturing for him to come over. “There's this thing in the report you wrote about the McHill case.”

Aramis groaned and turned to d’Artagnan. “Go and tell Athos I’ll be there in a minute. I need to see what this guy needs.” He hurried away before d’Artagnan could stop him. How was he supposed to know where Athos’ office was?

He continued on down the corridor, Aramis had been leading him this way, so it was probably further down. He was trying to read the names on the doors and did not see the man until he had almost ran into him causing the stack of papers he had been holding to fall and scatter all over the place.

“Oh I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, let me help…” d’Artagnan crouched down immediately, gathering up the papers before straightening and handing the stack back to the man.

He was a stern faced middle aged man with a receding hairline though his hair were a jet black. He had a sparse goatee at the chin along with a moustache and he looked at d’Artagnan, an expression of distant disapproval making the boy uneasy.

“I’m sorry sir, I wasn’t looking where I was going,” d’Artagnan apologized again but the man waved it off.

“There’s no need for that. Though I would like to know what exactly is it that you were looking for instead?”

“Uh, I was reading the nameplates. I need to find Athos’ office.”

There was a small smile and a look of realization passed over the older man’s face. “So you must be Athos’ boy.”

D’Artagnan was a little miffed at the familiarity and the term but did not let his annoyance show. He did not know who this man was and it would not do to show disrespect. Instead he held out a hand. “My name is d’Artagnan.”

The man smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners and his face softening considerably and he shook his hand. “I’m Treville. Athos is on a lower floor… conferring with another lawyer right now. You can wait for him in his office. It’s the last one down the hall.”

D’Artagnan nodded and gulped slightly as with one last nod, Treville walked away. So this was the infamous Treville the three friends kept talking about: they seemed to have a healthy dose of both respect and fear for the DA and d’Artagnan thanked his luck that he hadn’t gone off running his mouth with Athos’ boss.

He hurried to where the DA had told him the office was, coming to a stop at a desk with a young man situated behind it. He was typing away at the computer and looked up at d’Artagnan, his gaze taking in the jeans and shirt with a nice warm leather jacket that was a little worn out on account of being Athos’ first, but that d’Artagnan loved and wore everywhere; thrown over and he smiled haughtily. “May I help you?”

“Yes, I’m looking for Athos’ office.”

“What work could you possibly have with him?” the disdain was evident in the secretary’s tone and d’Artagnan sighed.

“Look, Treville told me the last office was his and Aramis isn’t going to be back for a while. Now if I wait in the hall for either of the two of them to return, both are going to be very very angry at you,” he paused, noticing the slight frown that dropping Treville’s and Aramis’ name had had on the man. “So if you don’t mind, I’m going in.”

He did not wait for the man to respond as he walked past and opened the door. The office was a large room with glass windows taking up most of the space on the main wall. It was tastefully decorated with a dark desk to one side, a black plush sofa set with a small coffee table on another with a bookshelf with several law volumes covering the wall behind it. There was a small LCD fixed to the wall opposite the coffee table wall but what drew d’Artagnan’s attention was the long shelf, behind the desk just below the windows, dotted with trophies and framed photographs. He crossed the room and walked over, studying the smiling faces in the pictures.

There was a young couple in one, probably Athos’ parents as the man can be seen a little older, with Athos in another picture. There were several of Porthos, Aramis and Athos together, in their black graduation coats holding their degrees with proud smiles on their faces, dressed in their military greens squinting in the sun and one of them smiling at the camera in what looked to be a strip club. It was as if their lives were chronicled in a series of photographs and d’Artagnan found himself marveling again at how many years these people had known each other for.

The photo in the middle was one that d’Artagnan picked up reverently. It was one with Aramis shoving a huge piece of cake into d’Artagnan’s mouth. Athos had his head thrown back in laughter and d’Artagnan had an expression of mild horror etched on his face. D’Artagnan remembered it as the day Aramis and Porthos had returned from London armed with a huge cake having missed his birthday. Aramis had been apologetic and had made up for it by making d’Artagnan eat most of the admittedly delicious cake, going so far as to shove it down his throat. Porthos was the only one not in it, having been the one to click it. D’Artagnan smiled at the memory but placed it back down when he heard voices outside the door.

“What do you mean, you tried to stop him?” Athos’ voice filtered through the door. “If I open the door and find out that you have let a random person in my office, I won’t be happy. If I find out that you tried to stop d’Artagnan from entering my office, I won’t be happy. So if I were you, I would get the hell away from here fast.”

D’Artagnan frowned slightly at the man when he opened the door. “That hardly seems fair.”

Athos simply smiled at the boy in greeting and closed the door behind him. “I know, I won’t do anything to the poor sod. I just like to keep him on his toes.” He grinned, balancing a large number of files in his hands. D’Artagnan moved to take some of them away before Athos dropped them and Athos let him take them gratefully. “So what are you doing here?”

“Aramis was going to take me with him to shop for Porthos’ coming birthday when he got your text. He told me to wait here and tell you he’ll be coming for the file shortly.”

Athos shook his head. “He was supposed to take the file with him when he left earlier. He probably sent you here deliberately so I wouldn’t be pissed at him.”  
The older man kept down the rest of the files he was holing, expecting a smart comment from the teenager. He turned towards him when none was offered and frowned. The kid had a paper clutched in his hands, his face a deathly white, his whole body trembling.

“D’Art?” Athos tried softly, not knowing what was wrong.

The boy in question turned to him, his wild dark eyes brimming with tears. It was that look, the one Athos hated, the one that was usually followed by a panic attack.  
He immediately crossed the distance between them, grabbing the boy by the arms, hating himself when the boy flinched at the contact, and guiding him to sit on the couch. He knelt in front of him but did not let go of his grip.

“D’Art, talk to me. What’s wrong?” the soft voice seemed to have broken through the fog in d’Artagnan’s mind because the young boy suddenly sobbed.

“Athos, this picture… where did you find it?”

Athos looked at the picture. It was that of a silver pendant on a long chain kept on a table haphazardly before being photographed. It had been part of the evidence in the  
Gaudet case, they had managed to get the bastard for two murder counts along with another attempted one. He would be in prison for a long long time.

“It’s an item in evidence. What is it to you?” Athos asked, confused by what about the picture was so special.

“The necklace is made of silver, it opens to a picture of an oak on one side and the inscribed words ‘Forever, my love’ on the other.” D’Artagnan’s breath hitched and another silent sob shook through his body. “It belonged to my father.”

Athos looked at the broken look on d’Artagnan’s face and pulled the hurting boy into his arms. He wished he could shield the young kid away from all the evils of the world just by holding him and never letting go of him. But he had already seen so much, suffered through the horror of watching his father being murdered and losing his home, that Athos knew nothing would erase the haunted look from the boy’s eyes completely.

That didn’t mean Athos wasn’t allowed to try and he hugged him fiercely, letting him bury his face in the crook of the older man’s neck as one after the other sobs shook through his thin frame and he breathed in loud gasps. Tears came to Athos’ eyes at his complete uselessness as he wished fervently that he could perform some miracle and go back in time and kill that bastard who had hurt the young boy in so many everlasting ways.

They sat like that for a while, Athos rubbing circles on d’Artagnan’s back, the young boy clutching at him as if Athos was the only thing holding him back from doing something drastic. It was only when Athos felt the sobs subside, when d’Artagnan had loosened his grip a bit, that Athos asked, “Alright, son?”

The kid sniffed but shook his head and Athos pulled back slightly to look at the tear stained face. D’Artagnan did not meet his eyes though and Athos tilted his chin towards himself with a hand until he did.

“The man whom that necklace was found upon was found guilty three days ago on two separate counts of murder. He’ll be behind bars for thirty five years.”

D’Artagnan looked at him and tried to smile. He settled for a nod instead. “That’s… good.”

Athos sighed and cupped his cheek. “I know it doesn’t bring your father back. I wish there was more that I can do for you, but… God, I wish I can change what happened.”  
The anguish in his voice had d’Artagnan placing his hand on top of Athos’. “Thank you,” he whispered quietly. “You do more than I can ever thank you enough for, and I’m grateful.”

Athos shook his head, wiping away a tear which was trailing down d’Artagnan’s cheek with the pad of his thumb. “You don’t have to thank me son. Not now, not ever,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.

D’Artagnan had to look away, throat getting too clogged up to speak. Athos too let go of his face, handing him a tissue. “You don’t have to go with Aramis you know, if you don’t feel up to it. I’ll talk to him, he won’t mind.”

D’Artagnan looked up at the older man and smiled. “No, no it’s okay. Trudging behind Aramis as he hops from shop to shop flirting with every man or woman that looks at him, though probably not my most favorite past time, will probably take my mind off stuff.”

Athos grinned, “Hopping. That’s a good one.”

D’Artagnan grinned too but was prevented from replying when the door opened and a panting Aramis came in. D’Artagnan caught sight of a very frightened looking secretary peering over the former’s shoulder trying to deduce the level of Athos’ anger before the door closed. Athos looked at d’Artagnan who shook his head slightly.

He turned towards Aramis who was taking off his rather large hat. Why the man was wearing it in mid-February, indoors, he didn’t know. “Mr. Skilter has called three times to find out where the files I promised would be at his desk this morning were.”

Aramis looked contritely at Athos. “I’m sorry I got dragged off by Fostner. I’ll take the files now.”

Athos shook his head, too emotionally spent to even pretend to be angry. He simply picked up the file from his desk and handed it to Aramis before turning to the boy who was getting up. He walked over and put a hand on his shoulder, speaking softly. “Are you sure you are up for this?”

D’Artagnan nodded and tried to give him a reassuring smile. Not quite satisfied, but not wanting to impose upon the plans the two had made, Athos let go and stepped back. He looked at Aramis. “Don’t stay out too late. He has already had a full day at school and he needs his rest.”

“Yes, dad.” Aramis rolled his eyes and d’Artagnan grinned. “Come along d’Art. Let’s go have some fun!”

Athos smiled as he watched his friend drag d’Artagnan out, the two talking in low tones all the while, before he sobered up.  
He needed to have a talk with Treville.

“Earth to d’Artagnan.” Aramis waved a hand in front of the boy’s face bringing him back from wherever his thoughts had taken him. He blinked and looked around, noticing the man had stopped.

“Uh, where are we?” d’Artagnan asked, looking around. They had been walking around in the mall, looking for the perfect thing to buy for Porthos. Or not. D’Artagnan had a sinking feeling when he realized they had stopped in front of an accessories shop which did not look like it catered to guys.

“Aramis, I’m not sure Porthos is into this kind of stuff.” D’Artagnan smirked when Aramis rolled his eyes.

“Very funny.” Aramis’ tone suggested it really wasn’t. Then a thoughtful look came on his face, “I wonder though, he wouldn’t look out of place in a dress…”

“So why are we here?” d’Artagnan asked to stop the older man from launching into a detailed description of another one of his fantasies or experiences. D’Artagnan hadn’t been able to look either of the two in the eye after he had been subjected to an impromptu lesson about the numerous and varied uses of chocolate syrup, while shopping for groceries with the man.

He did not want a repeat of that ordeal. Ever.

“We are here to get you to get your lady friend something nice which says, ‘Hey, I’m a friend who really really likes you.” Aramis stated, like as if that was the most obvious thing in the world.

D’Artagnan narrowed his eyes. “And why would I do that?”

Aramis looked slightly alarmed, “See when a boy meets a girl, or a boy for that matter, and he gets a funny feeling in his stomach, it means he likes her or him – Ow! What was that for?”

D’Artagnan grinned at the man who was rubbing his arm where he had just punch him. “That was for trying to give me the bird and bees talk.” The grin on his face disappeared. “Once you have lived on the streets, trying to stay warm at night to have a Land Cruiser pull up on the road in front of you and told by a man to get in and earn some quick money, you have to learn to grow up fast.”

Aramis stared at him, aghast, and d’Artagnan looked away. He put a finger below the boy’s chin and raised it so that he was looking at him. “D’Art, you…”

“I ran,” d’Artagnan said, before the man could form the question. “I ran fast and hard and did not look back.”

Aramis nodded, letting go and taking a step back. “Alright, I’m sorry for bringing that up for you. But please, you have to get Constance something for Valentine’s. It just won’t do to leave her hanging and let this chance go.”

“Seriously?” d’Artagnan asked, an eyebrow raised. “This whole thing was a ploy to get me to buy something for Constance? What about Porthos birthday and his gift?”

Aramis took his elbow and started leading him inside. “Porthos is a man of few material needs. He does not require a set of cuff links or a tie to make him happy. If you must know, I have a trip planned to the outskirts of Paris which includes hiking and swimming as well as a nice cozy bread and breakfast.”

“But I did want to give him something,” d’Artagnan said, frowning.

Aramis waved a hand, dismissively. “Don’t worry, you’ll think of something. Just keep in mind that Porthos would appreciate something small and personal rather than something big and expensive.” He stopped walking at a junction between the aisles. “Now, what kind of girl is this Constance of yours?”

“God, will you stop calling her mine?” d’Artagnan groaned. “She isn’t, and that just rubs it in.”

Aramis sighed and cuffed him on the head lightly. “No more of that defeatist talk lad. We are here to rectify that aren’t we?”

D’Artagnan thought about the girl. He didn’t think she would be one for nail polish and pink bags and dresses. “She isn’t exactly into all this stuff,” he told Aramis. “She’s more likely to karate chop a guy who’s pestering her instead of pepper spraying him, if you get what I mean,” he explained at Aramis’ raised eyebrow.  
Aramis chuckled. “She sounds lively.”

D’Artagnan grinned, “You have no idea.”

“Hmm, I think I know just the thing for her.” Aramis said before dragging him out of the excessively pink shop, eliciting a sigh of relief from d’Artagnan.

Aramis led him into another shop, this one solely dedicated to key chains. He picked a rather large one in the shape of an ornately decorated high heeled sandal. It was a shiny metallic black, the heel taking up most of the space with small pretty stones on the front which caught the light.

“But I said that she isn’t into this kind of…” d’Artagnan trailed off when Aramis pushed at a small hidden button on the inside of the sandal and the heel opened to reveal a whole set of miniature tools inside. There was a small knife, a tiny pair of scissors, a screw driver, a nail filer and even a lock pick among other things d’Artagnan couldn’t really fathom the use of. D’Artagnan stared at it and Aramis grinned at the awed look on his face.

“This is perfect. She’ll love this.” D’Artagnan beamed at the older man who turned immediately to the clerk at the counter and started to pay for it. “Aramis, I’ll pay for it, please.”  
Aramis turned towards him, “But I thought you were saving for Porthos’ gift?”

D’Artagnan shook his head. “What you said gave me an idea. I won’t say anything more, so you’ll just have to wait and see,” he winked at the older man and took out the wallet Athos had given him. The key chain did not cost as much as he had thought and he still had enough money left over to last him a week.

The pair walked out after Aramis had bought four key chains with tiny silver rapiers on them, complete with intricately carved pommels and elaborate knuckle guards, for each of them. “What’s a gentleman without his sword?” Aramis had asked with a smirk and d’Artagnan had rolled his eyes.

The pair made their way back after stopping for coffee before braving the cold evening wind in getting to the parking lot and the car.

On arriving home, the pair was assaulted with lovely smells wafting from the kitchen. Athos came out to greet them, raising an eyebrow as he helped d’Artagnan out of his coat and scarf. D’Artagnan nodded to assure the man he was alright and they sat down to dinner, Porthos having joined them fresh from taking a shower.

It wasn’t until later when Porthos and Aramis had retired to their rooms and d’Artagnan was helping Athos clean up the kitchen that the man took the cloth he was using to wipe down the counter from his hand and wordlessly put something in his palm.

“Treville agreed that this belongs to you.”

D’Artagnan looked down to see the silver necklace in his hands and he gasped. He raised it slowly, running his fingers over the carved surface, feeling the familiar dents and curves and opened it reverently. Tears welled up in his eyes as he took in the picture of the oak tree and the inscription inside. ‘Forever yours.’ D’Artagnan’s father had gifted the necklace to his mother, the message meant for her, and he hadn’t parted from it for a single second after her death, keeping it around his neck the entire time. It had been as much a part of the man as his hands and feet and heart and as d’Artagnan clutched the necklace in his fist, he felt the gaping sense of loss that he always felt whenever he thought of his father’s death, deep in his chest, ease a little.

He took a deep breath and looked at Athos silently, not knowing what exactly to say to convey to him how much this meant to him.

Athos had studied the emotions flitting on the boy’s expressive face. There had been surprise at first, followed by grief and awe and then a satisfied contentment. But when the kid looked at him, Athos felt his heart skip a beat. There was a look of such utter and complete adoration and _love_ on his face that Athos had to stop himself from gulping nervously. He smiled at the boy who seemed to be struggling to figure out what to say.

“Don’t thank me son. Just promise me you’ll remember your parents for all that they taught you, and be happy you had them in your life for no matter how short a period, instead of being sad.”

D’Artagnan nodded at the words and looked hesitant for a second before Athos found a very gangly teenager hugging him furiously. His arms came up automatically to hug back and he chuckled. D’Artagnan pulled back after a few seconds, and looked up at him from behind dark lashes which fell on his face. “Thank you.” His voice was so full of raw gratitude that Athos found himself reaching out to brush the hair back from the boy’s eyes and leaning over to kiss him lightly on the forehead. The kid blushed but smiled at him happily before looking alarmed.

“You talked to your boss about this right? I mean you won’t get into trouble or anything?”

Athos smiled at his concern, “No, I snuck inside the evidence lockup and disabled the camera. Then I ninja chopped the security guards and smuggled the necklace out, wiping everyone’s memory just to be on the safe side.”

D’Artagnan rolled his eyes but raised an eyebrow.

“I talked to Treville. He agreed that one single missing necklace isn’t going to have any effect on any case. It’s okay.” Athos paused remembering something. “You didn’t mention by the way, that you’ve met him.”

D’Artagnan’s eyes widened, “More like bumped into him and caused all his papers to go flying. He’s scary.”

He couldn’t help it. The matter of fact way that the kid said that was just priceless. Athos threw his head back and laughed. D’Artagnan looked at him pretending to be indignant. “What? He is!”

Athos sobered up though he couldn’t help the grin which stretched on his face. “That’s true. He is. But he is also a very fair and honorable man. After Porthos and Aramis he is the only man whom I would trust with you.”

D’Artagnan nodded and stifled a yawn.

Athos grinned, “Looks like our little puppy is tired. Come on let’s get you to bed, I’ll finish up here.” He shook his head at the boy who was about to protest and d’Artagnan closed his mouth. “Go on, you’ve had a tiring day.”

D’Artagnan nodded and with a last look at the necklace in his hands he wished him a good night and went off to his bedroom. Athos watched the kid go, surprised by how much having him in his life had changed him. He hadn’t thought he would ever feel the wounds that his brother’s death had dealt him heal, but he was beginning to discover that he could actually remember Tom now without feeling guilty or bitter. Tom would have wanted him to go on with his life, not like he had been doing before he had met d’Artagnan, but like this, happy and satisfied.

Athos smiled and raised the glass of wine he had poured for himself in the air. “For you, little brother.”


	6. Chapter 6

Porthos’ mind mumbled sleepy nonsense. He resolutely told it to shut up and leave him alone before the alarm went off. There was a soft tickling sensation along his spine which was making him feel slightly… ticklish and he grumbled sleepily.

“ ‘M trying to sleep…”

Apparently his boyfriend had other ideas. He proceeded in thoroughly waking Porthos up, expertly working his tongue and causing Porthos to make the most scandulous of noises. He moved up slowly, trailing kisses all over Porthos' abdomen, nipping at his jaw and finally, finally reaching his lips. 

Porthos groaned into the kiss, not even trying to fight for control, letting Aramis explore his mouth with leisure, their legs tangling together and their arms locking around each other as Aramis went deeper. The kiss was sweet and dirty, lazy and needy, all at once. Porthos felt himself going hard just with the feel of Aramis’ tongue ravishing him like he was the most delectable last supper that the man would ever have.

Aramis broke off the kiss slowly, following it up with a series of quick ones before shooting out a hand to slam the alarm clock which had started beeping. He rolled off Porthos and laid back, the other man turning to look at him.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, darling?”

Aramis grinned and kissed Porthos’ nose before replying, “Happy birthday.” He rolled off the bed immediately after, knowing if he stayed even a second more, he would not be able to stop himself until he had slowly and thoroughly fucked Porthos into the bed. They had work to get to after all.

He was halfway to the attached bathroom when he heard a sigh from the bed. “For god’s sake, it’s not even my real birthday.”

Aramis froze.

He turned back to find the man laid with a hand over his closed eyes while another rubbed at his cock sleepily. It would have been an inviting sight but Aramis’ cock barely twitched. “What?”

Porthos took away the arm covering his eyes and turned his head towards him gesturing dismissively. “I’ve told you before, today means nothing to me. I don’t know when my birthday is and I would rather not celebrate a date I simply picked up to put on some form.”

Aramis felt like he had been slapped. His face must have shown that because Porthos raised himself on his elbow. “Love, this can’t be news to you. I tell you this every year and I thought by now it would stop being a big deal.”

Aramis folded his arms over his chest, trying not to show how much Porthos’ words were hurting him. “I thought… I thought that this year it would be different.”  
Porthos looked confused. “Why? Whatever is so special about this year?”

Aramis opened his mouth to answer. Porthos’ utterly confused expression made him shut it again. He turned and walked into the bathroom ignoring his lover’s calls to stop.  
Porthos cursed. It wasn’t a big deal really. He just didn’t do birthdays. He didn’t get the point behind celebrating a date he knew nothing about, a date he had picked at random,  
when he knew nothing about when he was actually born.

He had thought Aramis understood that. It wasn’t that he had a problem with birthdays, it was just that he didn’t think it was important he had one.

But it seemed that Aramis had been hoping for something else. I thought this year it would be different.

Porthos couldn’t for all his life figure out why this year was any different. But he couldn’t very well remain in bed having caught a glimpse at Aramis’ face before he had turned and walked into the bathroom.

He swore softly and swung his legs off the bed, getting to his feet. He thought about knocking when he reached the door, but then chiding himself for being ridiculous, he opened it and slipped inside. The water from the shower was on, coating the room with a thick layer of steam and the bath curtain was drawn.

Porthos stared. The curtain was never drawn.

He pulled back the curtain slowly, and took in the sight of his naked boyfriend standing beneath the hot gush of water, the water hitting his face and dripping down his chin and trickling to his chiseled chest and down his legs in winding rivulets. The water had slicked his jet black hair back like no gel ever could and his eyes were closed.

Porthos felt his heart break a little as he realized that along with the water, there were tears too, making their way down his face. He looked like a drowning angel facing the heavens for the last time.

He took deep breaths to steady himself before slipping into the bath tub, his arms snaking around Aramis’ waist, pulling him until he was pressed back to chest, the two fitting perfectly. Aramis let himself be manhandled, his head coming to rest on Porthos’ shoulder and the water hitting his chest. Porthos realized the steady gush of steaming hot water was burning his boyfriend’s chest and cursing himself mentally for not realizing that sooner, he maneuvered Aramis’ slack frame until he was the one who was in the way of the shower, his back taking all the pressure while some of it fell on Aramis too.

Aramis had put a hand on Porthos’ where they rested on his stomach and linked their fingers together. In a soft voice he spoke, “Everything has changed.”

Porthos wanted to ask how and what but he remained silent knowing his lover would tell him exactly where he had fucked up and how much he needed to grovel to make up for it but he would do so in his own time. Aramis however was probably in a charitable mood today for he continued, “Ever since d’Art, everything is better. Athos has stopped drinking, both of our nightmares have gotten less frequent. There’s more laughter, more family meals, more happiness.”

Aramis turned his head until he was looking at the taller man in the eye. “I thought you would feel up to celebrating this year. If d’Art has become family despite not being blood, if we’ve found the happiness we didn’t even know we didn’t have, isn’t that reason enough to be thankful?” He turned around completely, cupping Porthos’ cheek and wiping away the tears he didn’t even know had starting flowing.

“Love, no matter what day you were born on, there wouldn’t come a single one on which I wouldn’t thank God that he created you and sent you into my life. So what if I want to tell you how utterly and madly happy I am that you are in my life on this day?”

Porthos looked into Aramis’ eyes, and he saw nothing but love. He had made himself so used to seeing pity and sympathy in people’s eyes that he was always caught unaware when he found such pure and untainted love in Aramis’ shining orbs. He held Aramis’ face in both his hands and bowed his head until their foreheads were touching. Closing his eyes, he simply breathed in the same air as his lover for a moment before opening them with a sigh.

All of a sudden; or perhaps it had been happening slowly with every laugh shared with d’Artagnan and every kiss stolen from Aramis and every look from Athos; the bitterness Porthos had carried for as long as he could remember at being born a bastard, at not knowing who he was, at being kicked around and cursed as a child, at being to the darkest hell on earth and returning; all that bitterness eased and he felt himself breath like he had just learned how to do so without a load being pressed on his chest.

He smiled, soft and loving and content, for once. “I love you.”

The words were said with the intensity of a thousand shattering stars, and Aramis’ breath hitched at the look on his lover’s face. For once, he looked at peace.  
He cupped his cheek and laughed and cried and kissed him until both of them were out of breath and too weak in the knees to stand and the water had turned cold.

XXX

Athos and d’Artagnan were already having breakfast when Porthos and Aramis finally made their way downstairs. Athos had seemed surprised when d’Artagnan had told him that Aramis had had a two day trip planned as a joint birthday and valentine thing for Porthos and that he had gotten the man something as well, though d’Artagnan had been unable to discern why. Athos had just looked at him when he had asked with a soft smile on his face, “Maybe, just maybe, there is nothing to tell kid,” he had whispered, before telling him to get on with his breakfast and get ready soon.

D’Artagnan was just finishing up when the couple came downstairs already dressed. They were walking even closer to each other than normal and d’Artagnan thought it was as good a time as any to give Porthos his gift. The guys had a tendency to return home very late sometimes and he didn’t want the day to be over before he got another chance.  
“Hey guys!” he called out, getting up and getting each of them a plate with eggs and toast and a glass of orange juice. “Eat, and don’t leave until I came back.” He rushed into his room immediately after giving both of them their plates.

Athos cleared his throat looking pointedly at Aramis who nodded. He shook his head, shoulders relaxing and smiled at Porthos. “Happy birthday, old friend,” he said softly.

“Cheers.” Porthos smiled and raised his glass towards him.

D’Artagnan came back with a large frame, wrapped in shiny red paper. “Here you go, happy birthday.”  
Porthos looked between the boy and the present in surprise before with a nudge from Aramis took the gift silently. He tore off the wrapping paper and his breath caught in his  
throat.

It was a framed charcoal sketch of Aramis and Porthos looking at each other. Porthos had an arm around Aramis’ waist and his head was tilted towards his lover’s ear who was smiling widely at him, radiating love and happiness. It was beautiful and simply perfect.

He looked at d’Artagnan who had started looking unsure at the continued silence from both Porthos and Aramis. Porthos tried to form words but no sound came out. He cleared his throat and tried again but his mind went blank.

Silently handing the sketch to Aramis he pulled the young boy into a tight hug. D’Artagnan relaxed and smiled when he let go several moments later.

“So you like it?” he asked hopefully.

“No.” Porthos said, smiling. “I love it. It’s the most thoughtful gift anyone has ever given me. Thank you.”

D’Artagnan’s face lit up with a thousand watt smile and Porthos ruffled his hair affectionately.

“Really d’Art, I had no idea you were this good at drawing.” Aramis said, still staring at the picture. The expression had been captured flawlessly and the small sign scrawled at the corner told him it was indeed d’Artagnan’s own work.

D’Artagnan blushed, “Yeah, it got me an A in art.” Athos and Aramis grinned at that.

“Oy! You showed that to your teacher?” Porthos asked, mortified.

“I did it for my monthly Art assignment. Of course I showed it to her.” D’Artagnan rolled his eyes. “She is slightly in love with the two of you by the way. Keeps asking me if my uncles are coming to pick me.”

Aramis grinned at him, “Of course she does. I mean look at this.” He waved a hand, gesturing at his body.

“I’d rather not.” D’Artagnan looked mildly sick. Athos laughed before raising both eyebrows at Aramis.

“Come on guys, we’ll be late for work.” Porthos called out, heading towards the coat rack.

Aramis walked over to d’Artagnan and whispered in his ear, “Going to give your lady friend her gift today?”

Valentine’s was still two days away but that would be a Sunday and there won’t be any school. D’Artagnan nodded and Aramis squeezed his shoulder. “Good luck then.”  
“Thanks,” d’Artagnan said, wishing he felt like he wouldn’t need it.

XXX

“So what do you think of Donne?” D’Artagnan asked.

Constance and d’Artagnan were sitting in art class together, like they were often wont to do, and talking. It was a long standing debate on stereotypes of boys and girls. Constance seemed to feel strongly on the matter, insisting that not all girls liked romantic comedies, swooned over Brad Pitt and wore pink dresses. Today’s topic was literature.

“Donne was a sexist. To him, a woman was a thing to be desired and obtained, not much else. He’s often vulgar in his abruptness.” Constance said, mixing the red on her pallet with some gold. D’Artagnan thought the resulting shade was something like her hair, though not quite as lustrous, but he didn’t dare say that aloud.

“Hmm, I would imagine being compared to a flea during sex would kind of be a mood killer.” D’Artagnan looked at his own empty canvas. He wasn’t really into painting, the black and white shades of charcoal were a lot more comforting than the splotches of color.

“You think?” Constance said, drily. “What do you feel about his work?”

“My father used to read some of his religious poems to me. I always used to think that that kind of closeness with god was something you worked towards, and attained after your faith was tested.” D’Artagnan paused, looking at his empty pallet, not sure whether he should go on. He had known he was in serious trouble when he had found himself talking freely about his father with the girl who sat beside him a month into their friendship. She never made awkward comments and felt sorry at every admittance. Instead she had this habit of tilting her head slightly and listening, eyes never leaving his face, like what he was saying was the most important thing in the world.

“And what do you think now?” Constance asked, when the silence became so long that she wondered if he was going to continue.

“I would rather put my faith in people.” D’Artagnan said, shocking himself. This was the first time he had said that aloud. “There are so many people in the world, some good, most bad. Still you can always see the good that people do and have faith in them. But there is only one God. So how do you explain away all the unfair things that you see?”  
Constance looked at him, lips forming a cute small thoughtful pout. “That is quite interesting. I never thought of it that way.”

“Ugh this topic is too heavy to talk about like this. My father always used to say ‘Never talk religion or politics with a friend unless you want the friendship to end.”

“Hmm… So, Keats?” she asked, and d’Artagnan fell just a little more in love with her right then.

The period ended far too soon and the bell rang for recess. The students started to leave their seats, covering up their half-finished paintings and d’Artagnan helped Constance with hers, having nothing to show for the class himself. They were out of the room before anyone else and d’Artagnan grabbed her elbow. “Hey, let’s not go to the cafeteria today. I have something to show you.”

She looked as if she would object and d’Artagnan waited with baited breath, grinning widely when she nodded. D’Artagnan led her through the corridor and out to the empty stands. It was too cold for anyone to be out here yet, when they could be huddled inside.

D’Artagnan brought her to a stop under the benches. He looked at her, taking out the small box he had put the key chain in. “Constance you are my first and best friend who made me feel welcome in a new place. So thank you for that, and happy Valentines’.”

She looked at the box for a second before taking it and opening it. She took out the key chain, handling the delicate looking sandal with care. “Thanks. This is… nice.”

D’Artagnan grinned, “Yeah, but that isn’t half of it.” He guided her finger towards the small button inside the sandal and the heel opened up. Constance’s face broke into a wide smile as she looked at the assortment of tools that came out neatly from the heel.

“Wow, that’s awesome!”

D’Artagnan looked at her, her delight at the gift evident and felt the overwhelming urge to kiss her right there and then. He held back, settling instead for a small bow. “I am pleased you find my token of gratitude and friendship worthy Madame.”

She giggled at his formality and did a neat courtesy. “I am honored to call upon you as my friend, Monsieur d’Artagnan.”

D’Artagnan smiled and wondered how it was possible to be able to love someone this much.

They had made their way back to the cafeteria after that, the chilly wind becoming too cold for them to remain outside without their coats. D’Artagnan was laughing as  
Constance continued to list the useful qualities of the gift which ranged from cutting her toenails to gutting the fish she would catch if she was ever stranded on an island, when someone grabbed his arm and spun him around.

D’Artagnan turned to see the very unpleasant sight of Bonacieux’s face up close. It wasn’t a very nice face.

“So you seem to think it’s polite to go wandering off with someone else’s girl, huh boy?”

D’Artagnan stared at him coolly fully expecting the indignant “Excuse me?” which broke out from Constance’s lips. “I’m nobody’s girl!”

Bonacieux barely gave a glance but that was enough to make him notice the key chain she had in her hands. “Oh, so giving gifts as well.” He gestured to three other boys, all of them seniors, who seemed to follow him everywhere. “Boys, it seems that we will have to teach this charity case here a lesson in propriety.”

“Let go of me.” D’Artagnan’s voice was low, a growl almost.

“What are you going to do if I don’t?” Bonacieux leered in his face. “Go running to mummy? Oh wait you can’t, she’s dead.”

D’Artagnan smiled at him, not letting the anger he could feel simmering show. He wasn’t going to give this ass the satisfaction.

“Bonacieux that is enough!” Constance cried out, aghast on her friend’s behalf and ashamed that this boy was the person she was going out with.

“Or is it daddy you are going to run to?” Bonacieux continued, completely ignoring Constance. “Oh what was that? He’s dead too? Oh poor sad d’Artagnan, all alone in the world, living off the charity of his uncles.”

D’Artagnan could feel himself trembling with rage, but he kept his face impassive. “Bonacieux, let go of my shirt before you end up hurting yourself.”

“Did you hear that boys? He thinks he can take on all of us!” There were jeers from all around, and d’Artagnan saw that they were surrounded by the kids from the cafeteria.  
Constance had had enough of her ‘boyfriend’s’ rude behavior. She marched up to him and grabbed the arm holding on to d’Artagnan’s shirt, wrenching it free from his grasp.  
He turned towards her, his face twisted with rage. “You whoring bitch!” he raised a beefy hand up and Constance flinched.

Something snapped inside d’Artagnan. He stepped in, took hold of the raised arm and twisted it with such force behind the boy’s back that he felt his shoulder pop. The boy yelped and went down on his knees before shouting angrily, “Get him!”

D’Artagnan let go of Bonacieux’s arm, ducking to miss a fat boy’s punch which would have knocked him down flat and kicked him in the knees. The boy fell hard, but d’Artagnan was already focused on another who was coming at him. He dodged out of the way and the boy went crashing into another student who pushed him down. That left one standing boy left. D’Artagnan looked at him, noticing that he wasn’t going to give up, and bent low anticipating the boy’s swinging fist. He punched him in the stomach, making him double over with pain and shoved him away.

He stood panting, looking at the four boys moaning around him. Bonacieux was swearing at him, clutching his shoulder with one hand, face red with anger and embarrassment.  
“What on God’s earth is happening here?” the crowd parted to let Mr. Fowler, the PE instructor, through. He took one look at the scene and pointed to several boys who hadn’t taken part in any of the fighting. “You, escort these boys to the nurse’s office. D’Artagnan, follow me.”

D’Artagnan cast one glance at Constance who turned away, a look of disgust on her face. His felt his heart break a little, but he steeled himself. A man always faced the consequences of his actions, his father used to say.

He raised his head and followed Mr. Fowler out of the cafeteria.

XXX

“Once you are done preparing for the Verdan case, I need you to look over the paperwork Dulver wrote up on the Machett property case,” Treville instructed as he walked. Athos walked besides him, nodding his head but not writing anything down.

Once Treville had tested his memory by listing off forty six things for him to do. Athos had caught up fast to what the older man was intending and had simply kept on nodding his head until Treville had tired of it and asked him skeptically if he had all that down. Athos had nodded and left. Two days later, he had returned with forty six case files and Treville had opened up one of the vintage bottles he kept behind his desk under lock and key, congratulating him on being a stubborn ass. Since then, he hadn’t ever questioned Athos’ ability to mentally make lists and remember things.

“How’s your boy doing?” The out of the blue question surprised Athos.

“D’Artagnan’s fine, you made quite an impression on him it seems.” Athos smiled.

“Oh yeah? What did he say?” Treville raised an eyebrow.

“That you scared him.”

Treville chuckled. “I knew he was a smart one, that kid.”

“Sir, I needed to talk to you about the McKinley case,” Athos reminded the older man, oddly proud that Treville seemed to approve of d’Artagnan, and Treville nodded.

“I have court in a few minutes, but we can do that as soon as I get back.”

“Right… -“ Athos cut off, glancing at his ringing phone. The caller ID said ‘blocked number.’ Treville got a look at the ID and stopped, frowning.

“Are you going to take that?”

Athos shrugged. He answered the call and put it on speaker. No one spoke, but a raspy breathing sound could be heard over the line. After a few seconds, Athos disconnected.

Treville looked at him, eyes narrowed. “You don’t look like this is the first time you’re getting that kind of a call.”

Athos shook his head. “I started getting them around a month ago. I tried to talk in the beginning but there was no answer except that breathing thing. They come around twice a week. It’s no big deal.”

“You realize that these are old intimidation tactics?” Treville asked.

Athos nodded and smiled grimly. “If whoever it is thinks that’s going to work on me, I’m going to do them the courtesy of waiting until after they have looked me up before I take any action.”

Treville grinned at the flippant tone, but it turned into a frown when the phone in Athos’ hand rang again, this time the caller ID showing unknown number. Both men looked down in surprise. “You said they come twice a week?”

“This isn’t that,” Athos said, and Treville nodded at the silent request. Athos answered the phone, his expression turning from curiosity to surprise in a matter of seconds. He disconnected the phone with a curt ‘I’ll be there shortly,’ and looked at Treville. “Sir, I’m very sorry but I’ll have to go. There has been an incident at d’Art’s school. Apparently he got into a fight and the principal wants to talk to me.”

Treville nodded, surprised. He did not really expect that from the boy. “It’s okay, take the rest of the day off.”

XXX

Athos arrived at the school to find d’Artagnan waiting in the corridor outside the principal’s office. He walked straight up to the boy, who stood up. Athos silently checked him over for injuries, letting out a sigh of relief on finding none.

He lifted the boy’s chin with a finger and waited until he looked him in the eyes. “You okay?”

D’Artagnan nodded, silent. He looked away.

“You want to tell me what happened?” Athos asked softly. A loud throat clearing made him turn around. The secretary sitting behind the desk pointed at the door.

“The principal would see you now.”

Athos nodded and turned back to d’Artagnan. “D’Art?”

“I think you should go speak to him.” D’Artagnan gestured at the door, not looking at him.

Athos sighed. “Are you sure?” He let go of the boy when he nodded, and sat him down back on the chair before knocking and entering the principal’s office.

The principal, Mr. DuLac was a tall well-built man with greying hair and sharp keen eyes. He nodded at Athos and gestured for him to sit down.

“You must be d’Artagnan’s guardian.”

“My name is Athos, sir.” Athos sat down on the chair across the desk, holding out a hand which the other man shook.

“As you’ve been told, d’Artagnan got into quite a fight with several students in the cafeteria during recess today,” Mr. DuLac said. Athos remained silent, only nodding his head.  
“The details are interesting though.”

Athos raised an inquisitive eyebrow when he realized the principal was waiting for a response.

“D’Artagnan was the one to deal the first blow, and he took down four senior boys, all of them athletes. One of them is suffering from a dislocated soldier while there are bruises all over the other three.”

Athos nodded again, not letting his surprise at the ‘interesting’ details show. D’Artagnan had taken down four people without a single bruise on him? “Sir, if you feel that disciplinary action is required I will not object to a fair punishment.”

“What punishment would you suggest?” the principal asked, staring at him. “Make him apologize to the boys in public perhaps? Or have him do detention for a definite period of time? Or suspend him for the same amount of time it takes for the injured boys to heal?”

Athos leaned forward, his elbows on the table. “I would not be able to suggest anything without knowing the details of the matter.”

“Surely the details that four boys are injured, one of them severely enough to be taken to the ER are enough?”

Athos shook his head. “D’Artagnan is not one to attack without provocation. He has a temper but he keeps a very tight lid on it. I notice you didn’t say he started the fight. Instead you said he ‘dealt the first blow.’ I’m sure there is a good reason d’Artagnan felt that he cannot let whatever it was pass, and I would not let him apologize to those same boys unless I listen to his side of the story first.”

The principal stared at him for a long minute, Athos meeting his eyes unflinchingly. He nodded then and relaxed in his chair. “I’ve heard a lot about you. It seems your reputation as a fair but ruthless lawyer is well earned.”

Athos smiled thinly at the compliment and Mr. DuLac shook his head. “Now, the thing is I have decided that as this is d’Artagnan’s first incident and that as you very rightly said the details of the matter present it in a different light, we would be letting him go without any formal punishment.”

Athos looked at the principal in surprise.

“I’ve talked to the boy. He seems like a good kid and he is genuinely scared of having disappointed you. I wanted to see if you were the kind of uncle who would take the time to talk to him and listen instead of simply offering him up for punishment.”

Athos shook his head and smiled, this time warmly. “You really are a friend of Treville’s, aren’t you?”

Mr. DuLac chuckled and nodded. “Say hello to that old bastard from me.”

Athos stood up to leave, and after shaking the man’s hand walked out.

Not a single word had been said throughout the drive and Athos was getting a little worried. He had thought about taking d’Artagnan home, both of them having gotten the day off, but instead took him to one of his favorite places in Paris.

It was a small clearing with a river flowing through which could be reached after a small drive through a hidden dirt road that Athos had found many years ago. There wasn’t anything but forestland for miles around and the quiet and peace that the place had offered had made it his and Tom’s favorite contemplative spots. Well that, and the ladies had always loved it.

He got out of the car, followed by d’Artagnan. He walked towards the river silently and stood there, hands buried in the pockets of his overcoat and eyes closed, breathing in the fresh clean air, free of all the smog of the city. After a moment he was joined by d’Artagnan who stood beside him, but did not speak.

Athos sighed. “D’Art if you think I’ll be angry at you for something that wasn’t your fault, I’m disappointed that by now, you don’t know any better.”

D’Artagnan looked at him, surprised. “How do you know it wasn’t my fault?”

“The school would have hardly let you go without punishment of it had been.” Athos stared at him. That wasn’t exactly a deduction of Sherlockian level.

D’Artagnan looked down. “Actually, Mr. DuLac told me that he was leaving my punishment in your hands.”

It was Athos’ turn to be surprised, though he did not show it on his face. “And to decide that fairly, I would need to know exactly what happened.”

D’Artagnan looked away but nodded. “He tried to hit Constance.”

Athos closed his eyes. The single statement was all that he needed to know to decide that d’Artagnan had acted in exactly the same way any man with an ounce of honor to his name would have acted to anyone threatening violence over a girl.

D’Artagnan took his silence for condemnation and continued, not wanting to lose his chance at explanation. “Bonacieux and his friends started goading me into fighting, they brought up mom and dad and I kept my cool, they grabbed me and called me a charity case but I did not react. Then Constance tried to intervene and Bonacieux got angry at her and he raised his hand to hit her and after that…” the kid trailed off, staring at the older man’s profile. Athos stood there, eyes closed. He did not even look like he had listened. D’Artagnan felt horrible. “I’m sorry. I’ll accept whatever punishment you deem necessary.”

Athos was wrenched out of his angry musings by the latest contrite statement. He turned to stare at d’Artagnan who was studying his shoes intently. “Whatever the hell are you apologizing for?” he demanded, causing the boy to look at him in surprise. D’Artagnan opened his mouth to speak but Athos held up a hand to silence him. “Son, you did exactly as anyone – as I would have done had I been in your place. No one is allowed to hit a girl, no matter what. And this Bonacieux sounds like an utter twat. His kind I’ve seen many times, both in and out of the army. There really is no end to the depths they can fall to when they start lording their weight around. I’m proud of you for not losing your temper over any silly insult but taking a stand when he tried to hit Constance.”

D’Artagnan had continued to stare at him in such surprise that by the time Athos was done talking his mouth was literally hanging open. Athos laughed and closed it with a finger. “So you aren’t upset?”

Athos groaned, “The only thing I’m upset about d’Art is that I wasn’t there to see you take down four apparently athletic guys without getting so much as a scratch. What, Porthos giving you lessons in close combat I’m not aware of?”

D’Artagnan shook his head and smiled. “No. I just went on instinct.” He looked at Athos thoughtfully, “Though would you mind if Porthos did teach me how to fight?”  
Athos shook his head, before stopping to think about it. It would rather be better if d’Artagnan had more than just instincts to go on while fighting. “You want to learn?”

D’Artagnan nodded, “Only if you don’t have a problem with it.”

Athos ruffled his hair, leading him back to the car with a hand on the nape of his neck. “I’ll think about it.”

The drive back home was a lot more pleasant than the drive to the lake had been, the two talking about anything that popped into their heads after Athos was done ribbing him about Constance’s reaction to her gift. They were still laughing when Athos pulled the car over on the driveway and parked it.

The laughter vanished from d’Artagnan’s face however, when on getting out he saw himself face to face with a big beefy man with a rather large moustache covering most his face.

“Uncle Henri,” he gasped.


	7. Chapter 7

D’Artagnan tried to breathe. This wasn’t happening. What was _he_...? 

He couldn't get air into his lungs.

Henri smiled, a sick, twisted snarling of his lips, and clamped a hand on d'Artagnan's shoulder. The boy flinched. "Do you know how long it took for me to find you?" the beefy man said, his voice loud and cheerful.

D'Artagnan tried to form words, he wanted to tell the man to fuck off and leave him alone, he wanted to yell and curse at him until his throat was raw, but no words came.

Thinking was getting harder by the minute as d'Artagnan struggled to not let the fear overwhelm him. He couldn't let on how terrified he was, he couldn't give this _bastard_ the satisfaction.

Suddenly the hand was being shrugged off his shoulder and a warmth was at his side. He tilted his head towards it and saw Athos standing at his side, glaring at his uncle. The lawyer did not look at him as he quietly said, "Go inside, d'Art."

D'Artagnan did not argue. He turned and almost ran up the steps and without a backward glance went inside the house.

Athos looked at the man who was still smiling. Athos wanted to punch his face until it was nothing but a bloody mess. He spoke, his voice a monotone which accentuated the underlying rage. "You must be Henri."

"And you are Athos." The man held a hand out which Athos did not even glance at. After a second, he let it drop, unfazed.

"I see that you've found my wayward nephew. I'm indebted to you for looking after him. But now I would like to take him back."

Athos smiled. It was said in Afghanistan that when Athos smiled, unfriendly aircrafts careened into invisible mountains, whole units of rebels simply surrendered and hasty peace treaties were signed.

"D'Artagnan is not going anywhere."

Henri looked positively delighted, as if he had been hoping for that. "Now, that might not sit right with the courts seeing as I am his legal guardian and everything."

Athos shook his head. "If you know my name, you must also know of my reputation. You really want to go up in court against me? I would turn your life inside out and find enough evidence to not only nullify your guardianship over d'Artagnan, but throw your ass in prison for so long, you wouldn't live to see the sun again."

Henri nodded. "Yes, you can do that. But in the meantime, d'Artagnan would have to be put in the system. And you know of all the things that happen to boys like him there. And it would be very easy for anyone to find him too."

Athos' blood boiled. "I am done talking to you," he said through clenched teeth. "If you have anything to say, you can say it in court."

He turned to walk away but was stopped by a hand on his arm. "Maybe we can work something out."

Athos turned, his face impassive, and raised an eyebrow.

Henri seemed to appear satisfied that he had Athos' attention and smiled at him again. "I can see you care about the boy. I'm betting you would give anything to see him remain with you. So how about we work something out between ourselves, say a monthly income?"

Athos shrugged off the hand and pretended to think about it. He stepped close, enough that his face was right in the slightly shorter man's. "I am not in the habit of negotiating with spineless pathetic bullies like yourself. D'Artagnan is staying with me. I'll be taking you to court over his custody. I would advise you to not show your repulsive face here again if you don't want to find yourself behind bars for trespassing. That is after my two friends and I, who are ex-special forces, if you weren't aware, have had our chance with you."

Athos did not walk away this time. He waited, watching the man's face turn from a smiling condescending expression into an enraged, furious purple. A vein popped on his forehead, and he opened and closed his mouth repeatedly, like a fish out of water.

Athos raised an eyebrow and the man withered. He stepped back and walked to where he had parked his car, driving away without looking back.

Athos breathed, his shoulders sagging in relief, the panic of almost having someone take away d'Artagnan from him hitting him in full force. He took deep breaths to calm himself, using the same techniques that were taught at boot camp for post adrenaline drains. When he felt that he was in enough control he turned and walked inside the house, knowing that the young boy must be freaking out.

He was surprised to find the house in complete darkness. Usually, when d'Artagnan would return home, he would throw all the lights in the corridor and hall open, claiming that a dark house was not something worth coming back to. It was just one of the many things that had changed around the big house, like the addition of his text books on the table, or the bowls and plates always littering the sink with them cooking in each night, or the shelf which had materialized out of thin air when Aramis had bought d'Artagnan every game he could get his hands on, when he had noticed that the boy had tired of the admittedly childish Little Big Planet.

Athos hadn't even realized how much more the big house had started to feel like home ever since d'Artagnan had moved in.

But now the boy in question couldn't be found anywhere. D'Artagnan checked the hall and the kitchen. He even knocked on the bathroom, but no one was inside. He knocked and opened the door to d'Artagnan's room, but again found it empty. He was about to call the boy on his phone when he noticed that the door to his room was slightly open. He had closed it in the morning. He opened it all the way, and could make out the huddled form sitting on the ground, beside the bed, arms hugging his knees, in the dark.

He walked in quietly and knelt down in front of the rocking form of d'Artagnan. The boy did not look at him so he placed a hand on the nape of his neck and waited until he dd.

"It's okay son. He's gone," he told him quietly.

"Do I have to go?" the fearful tone was enough to make Athos wish he hadn't sent the man bag with only the _threat_ of bodily harm.

"You're not going anywhere," Athos whispered, furiously. "I promise you d'Art, you'll never have to go to that scumbag of an uncle."

Some of the tension drained from d'Artagnan's face and his shoulders relaxed minutely. It wasn't much but Athos was heartened anyway. It was a start. "So what did he want then?"

"He wanted me to give him money so he wouldn't take me to court over your custody."

D'Artagnan looked at him, contrite and shameful. "I'm sorry, you shouldn't have to do that. I…"

Athos clamped a hand over his mouth to stop him from speaking. "Let me finish, he asked for money, I told him to shove it up his ass. He told me he'll sure me, I told him I'll take him to court myself. I also told him if he ever came back here, I would show him exactly what kind of training a Special Forces captain and his best two men were given."

D'Artagnan looked at him, his face breaking into a wide grin at Athos' words. "He must have not liked that."

Athos raised a hand with his thumb and forefinger an inch apart and grinned. "He peed himself just a little bit I think." His face grew somber. "D'Art, I need you to order some food for everyone. I'll call up Treville, Porthos and Aramis. We need to get on this case right away."

D'Artagnan nodded, before looking at Athos. "Thanks." Athos raised an eyebrow in a _for what_ gesture, his phone already pressed to his ear. "For not letting him get to me."

"You can thank me when he is behind bars. Now shoo." He gestured for D'Artagnan to get out, "Yes, hello sir. No, everything turned out to be fine at school, Mr. DuLac said to say hi. I need your help with something a little more serious later. Can you come by the house later?"

D'Artagnan smiled, and went to order pizza.

"Really, there was this lovely spa too. They promised an experience which would make an atheist believe in God." Aramis was whining about being called back from their way to the weekend trip he had planned. He had been whining ever since he had gotten the phone call and now, seated around the table, digging into the pizza, he wouldn't stop.

Athos had had enough. He reached over and hit Aramis' at the back of the head, hard. The man glared at him and he in turn pointedly looked d'Artagnan's direction. The boy was seated on Athos's left with Treville on his other side and he was looking quietly at his plate, his expression closed off.

Aramis looked confused for a second before realization hit him and he glanced at Athos apologetic. "It would however be awesome to see this asshole's face when he realizes exactly who he has pissed off," he continued, breathing in relief when a small smile appeared on d'Artagnan's face.

Treville watched the entire scene with raised eyebrows and grinned at Athos' protective nature. Porthos however was glad to see his friend acting in such a way. The last time he had shown such care towards anyone, going so far as to stop his two best friends from teasing anyone so much, it had been his little brother Tom. Athos had adored the little guy to pieces and he in turn had worshiped the ground his beloved older brother walked on.

Porthos had missed seeing this compassionate side of Athos.

They ate dinner in relative silence after that before moving to the couches the older men with their drinks. D'Artagnan settled down with Athos on one couch while Porthos and Aramis took the opposite one and Treville sat down on another.

Treville cleared his throat and looked at Athos. "To portray Henri as an unsuitable guardian we need as much evidence possible, starting from why d'Artagnan left home."

There was silence. Athos looked at d'Artagnan who had folded his hands in his lap, looking down. Athos pushed back the locks of hair falling over the boy's eyes and said, "Son, you would have to tell us and the judge that. Are you ready for that?"

D'Artagnan did not move for a moment but then he took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and nodded, looking Athos in the eye. "Yes."

Athos smiled, proud at the kid for facing his past. He nodded at Porthos who got up and got the recorder that he had brought from the office. He switched it on, and Athos gestured for d'Artagnan to start.

"Henri moved in the same week that my dad was buried. He had moved to England several years ago and we hadn't seen him since. My dad had practically raised him after my grandparents had passed away when he was just a kid. That's why my dad had thought he would make a good guardian for me."

"What he didn't know was how much his little brother had changed. Henri had developed a drinking problem in all the years we haven't seen him. At first it wasn't so bad. He would meet with my dad's lawyers and the people from dad's business, and then drink until he passed out in his room. But a month passed and he started getting bolder, settling into his role as master of the house. Then there wasn't any time of the day he wouldn't be completely drunk, hollering at the house keeper and breaking things. He started having his friends over for rowdy drinking parties, raiding my father's wine cellar, and causing a raucous. I would try to keep out of their way, staying in my room ignoring the loud noises. But then, one night…" d'Artagnan's voice broke, his eyes taking on the same panicked look that Athos associated with him reliving something horrible in his head.

Athos grasped a hand and squeezed it until the boy looked at him. Athos silently assured the frightened teenager, placing one hand around his shoulders. The boy looked at him, the panic slowly receding and Athos nodded for him to continue.

D'Artagnan was quiet for several seconds, but then he squeezed his hand back and resumed talking. "That night, there were a lot more people in the house than usual. The drinks must have been flowing freely because the voices had started to get louder and louder. I could hear them talking about how lucky Henri was to get such a house and how he must make sure he never lost ownership of it. Next thing I know someone was pounding at my door. I tried to ignore it, having locked the door earlier but it grew incessant before the door was kicked open. Henri and a couple of his friends entered and dragged me out. They were utterly drunk but I couldn't break free. They started shoving me around, laughing and jeering when I couldn't do anything about it. Henri hit me again and again until blood was dribbling down my nose and one of eyes was swollen shut. Then I heard one of them ask Henri if they could show me who owned me. Henri laughed and spat in my face. He started pulling at my shirt and I could tell where the whole thing was going…" D'Artagnan faltered and he looked down. Athos felt tears fall on the hand that was holding d'Artagnan's on his lap but his mind wasn't processing anything.

All the men around the room were staring at the boy, with matching expressions of horror etched on their faces. There were tears trailing down Aramis' cheeks and he had Porthos' hand clutched in a tight grip. It was Treville who broke the silence. "Son, did they… sexually assault you?"

Athos flinched as though slapped, but d'Artagnan shook his head from side to side. There was a collective sigh of relief from everyone and d'Artagnan looked up, "I gave it everything then. I couldn't let that happen. I fought and scratched and bit and clawed my way out of the arms of Henri and his friends and I ran. I ran straight for the door and I did not stop running." His voice had taken a hard edge that Athos had never heard before and Athos rubbed soothing circles on his back, trying to bring him back from wherever his mind had taken him.

Treville nodded, "Where did you go then?"

"A friend's place. His step dad did not want to call the police and involve himself in the matter but Jean convinced his father to let me stay with them. They were the ones who patched me up but I couldn't stay there for long. I could tell I wasn't welcome. After that it was one friend's couch to another, until one day Henri turned up where I was staying. I ran again, and this time I remained on the streets. I hitched rides, got away as far as possible and learned to live on whatever I could find. I found work a few times, taking out the garbage in restaurants once, waiting tables at another but every time the owner would let me go when they were to be inspected, not wanting to get into trouble for employing a minor. I was barely surviving when Athos found me and after that… Well, you know what happened since then."

Athos nodded and Porthos switched off the recorder. He got up, taking hold of the boy's elbow and pulling him to his feet as well. "Come on, let's wash your face and get you cleaned up." The remaining three lawyers nodded and d'Artagnan and Athos went into the kitchen.

Athos turned on the water in the sink, wetting a towel and squeezing it before walking over to where the teenager was leaning against the counter. He pushed back the hair which had fallen into his face again, smiling at d'Artagnan when he looked up and wiped his face with the towel slowly.

"You know I never was a man of faith."

The out of the blue statement had d'Artagnan looking at the man in confusion. Athos chuckled and continued, "People who believe tend to find god in the smallest of things. A believer would state how it was divine intervention that I ran into you that night on the street. An act of God, even. I don't think so. I think people who sit and wait for god to intervene are cowards who lack the strength of will to do something on their own." He cupped d'Artagnan's cheek, staring into the dark eyes. "And right now you have no idea how proud I am to know that you didn't break. You fought and you got out and it was all you. Your determination, your strength, your courage. You're a remarkable person d'Artagnan, a lesser man would have broken under the pressure of all the things you've faced, but you didn't. You survived it with your humanity and innocence intact and I am proud to call you a friend."

There were tears in d'Artagnan's eyes and Athos found out he was crying too when d'Artagnan reached out with a hand and wiped at his cheek. The boy's hand fell away and came to rest on Athos' chest. Athos kept his gaze fixed on him and the realization that the older man meant every word that he had said sank in for the teenager.

He had always felt ashamed thinking about what had happened, thinking of himself as too weak to let it go that far, to not fighting for his home. There had been times when he had been unable to look at himself in the mirror, finding the helpless and hopeless eyes staring back at him too pathetic to bear. Now as Athos' words reverberated around his head, he felt the shame and guilt drain away, leaving him oddly… empty. His knees sagged and he found himself being supported up by a warm chest, with arms around him keeping him grounded. Something in him, something he hadn't even known was wrong, settled at the feeling of safety and _acceptance_ the solid presence offered.

Athos guided the emotionally exhausted teenager to a chair and sat him down, kneeling on the ground so he was level with him. "Now, Treville would want to question you on what you have told us. I trust him completely, but I'll stop him if you don't want to answer. Are you fine with that?"

D'Artagnan nodded. "It's okay, he's here to help and I'm grateful for that. I don't mind answering anything that he has to ask." A grin broke out on his face. "Besides, he isn't so scary with sauce in his beard."

Athos grinned. The DA was still unaware that ever since he had taken the first bite of the pizza they had had, a considerable amount of the sauce had stained his beard. Porthos had made to point it out so he could wipe it off but Aramis had stopped him with a grin.

After a minute the two made their way out of the kitchen to find the three remaining lawyers discussing the best possible ways to proceed. At least Treville was talking, while Aramis was subtly rubbing circles on Porthos' back, trying to settle the dark storm brewing in the bigger man's eyes.

Treville trailed off when Athos entered and glanced at the man. Athos nodded sitting d'Artagnan down and taking his place beside him.

"Right, we will have to track down as many people as we can related to the story and get their statements. First of all, what was the name of the friend whose house you went to right after?" Treville asked, his voice soft and understanding.

D'Artagnan looked at the man, "Jean-Michael, his stepdad's a banker."

Aramis nodded, "Right, and Henri's friends. Do you have any names, places of occupations, even descriptions?"

This time d'Artagnan was silent for several minutes before he answered, "There were two who were there almost every day. They followed him from England I think. One was a Carl Patrick and the other he only called Gus. I don't know where they worked, if they worked at all."

"That's good, we can work with that," Athos said, reassuringly.

"What about other family members?" Porthos asked. "Surely they can testify that Henri had problems?"

D'Artagnan shook his head. "My father only had one brother. The rest of our extended family is either in London and Scotland or in the States. No one used to keep in touch before so they wouldn't know of Henri's problems."

"But character like him, I suppose he has people he got into trouble with back in London," Aramis said.

Treville nodded. "We'll look him up, find out if he knew people there, and get their statements. Porthos, you follow up on this Carl Patrick, find out what you can from him. Aramis will look up the family and fly to London if he has to."

Athos looked at his boss, expecting to be told of what to do as well. When Treville took a case, he did not leave a single stone unturned. The man looked at him, "Athos, you need to remain with d'Artagnan, keep an eye on him. I don't think Henri will try to get to him, but it's better to be safe than sorry." Athos nodded in assent. "And you might want to bring out those papers you had been writing up, I think waiting any longer would be inadvisable."

Athos nodded again. He had had the papers of adoption written up and ready for months now, but he had been waiting for the right time to ask d'Artagnan. But now, if, no _when_ the judge decided that Henri was an unsuitable guardian, he would formally step in to take custody of d'Artagnan. If he did not talk to d'Artagnan beforehand and if he had a problem with that, then d'Artagnan would go into the foster care system.

Athos shuddered. Boys his age did not have any hopes of getting adopted into any family and kept on getting bounced from one foster home to another, a reason most of them ran away to live on the streets. Athos was never going to allow that happen to d'Artagnan.

He had made the boy a promise. He had every intention of keeping it.

XXX

It was when Treville had left for his own house and Aramis and Porthos had retired to their room that Athos brought up the matter with d'Artagnan. The boy had went to his own room, feeling too tired to listen to what the four of them were discussing. They had started talking about which judge to get and what approach would be most effective and he had zoned out anyway.

But Athos could hear soft music coming from inside the room so he knew that d'Artagnan was awake. He knocked on the door softly, waiting for d'Artagnan's call to enter and pushed it open. The boy was sprawled out on the bed, with a book in his hands, his mobile lying on the pillow beside him. He sat up as Athos entered and crossed his legs. Athos sat on the bed across him.

"Hey, I needed to talk to you about something."

D'Artagnan nodded and stopped the song. "What about?"

"About me adopting you."

D'Artagnan looked at him, surprised. He did not say anything for so long that Athos started freaking out. "D'Art, it's just going to be a paper, nothing about how we are will change. You'll continue living with us and you'll go to school, and everything will be fine."

D'Artagnan shook his head. "Athos, it's not that. I… I can't."

Athos blinked, trying not to show how hurt he was at d'Artagnan's refusal. He had thought that the boy had come to look at him as an older paternal figure by now. He himself had started seeing d'Artagnan as the little brother he had lost, the son he had never had. Apparently the bond did not run both ways.

"Don't you trust me?" Athos's voice was barely a whisper, he hated how weak and pathetic it sounded.

D'Artagnan looked at him, horrified. He reached forwards and grabbed Athos' hand. " _Of course_ I do!"

Athos looked at him, confused. "Then what's the matter?"

"I… It's not just a piece of paper Athos. It's a big deal. Are you sure there is no other option?" D'Artagnan asked, not meeting Athos' eyes.

"Well, not any good ones," Athos replied.

"See, that's why I don't want you to do anything like this," d'Artagnan looked at Athos, his eyes earnest.

"What?" Athos was honestly confused now. D'Artagnan looked away, sighing exasperatedly, and realization suddenly hit the lawyer. "D'Art, do you think I am suggesting this out of the blue, or that I'm being backed into a corner?"

D'Artagnan kept staring at his hands and sighed. "I just don't want you getting into anything you're not prepared for and then regretting it later."

"You're an idiot."

D'Artagnan looked at the older man, eyebrows raised. Athos chuckled, the tension leaving him. "I have had the paperwork written up since November. I want this. I want to be able to protect you from people like Henri. I don't want to lose you, I _can't_ lose you." He paused, letting his words sink in. "Do you know the month after you left was one of the worst in my life? I was such a wreck even Aramis and Porthos despaired of me. Ever since you've returned the world has felt _right_ again. I wouldn't be getting into anything that I am not prepared for by adopting you legally. I _want_ to do this."

D'Artagnan stared at Athos with such an utter look of idolization on his face that Athos started feeling self-conscious. He raised an eyebrow at the boy, "So you'll agree to it?"

"After that speech? God, I'll die for you." D'Artagnan smiled at him.

Athos reached over and cuffed him. "I want you to live for me you ass. If you die on me too, I'll kill you myself." The words were flippant, but the meaning behind them wasn't.

Athos swallowed, he had no idea what he would do if something were to happen to d'Artagnan.

"Athos, why aren't there more people like you?" D'Artagnan blushed at the childish question. It had been one which he had wondered at from time to time but now that it was out there, it seemed such a silly thing to say.

"I'm not all that incredible, kid. I have my faults but… you just seem to bring out the best in me," Athos answered, marveling at the fact that he had said that without scorning. Since when had he become such a softie? This boy was going to be the death of him. "Now shut down that brain of yours and go to sleep. I don't want to see the lights on in this room in another ten minutes, you understand young man?"

D'Artagnan rolled his eyes at the stern tone. "Yes, dad."

It was said with none of the sarcasm that the teenager was so fond of. Athos smiled.

XXX

Porthos clenched and unclenched his fist, his eyes unfocussed. Aramis sighed deeply: he knew the look currently on his boyfriend's face.

All of them had their demons. But for Porthos it was different, it always had been. When Aramis had nightmares, they were of blood and battle and bodies strewn around. Nothing unusual for a soldier who had seen as mush action as him.

But when Porthos woke up screaming and refused to go back to sleep in the same bed as Aramis, afraid that he might hurt him, Aramis knew his demons went deeper than a war struck desert hell. His nightmares were not fears that could be given a face, that could be shot and killed. Aramis knew enough not to push on the days he woke up to find Porthos curled around himself on the floor beside the bed.

"Love, you with me?" Aramis tried in a soft whisper, walking nearer to the bed.

For a long minute Porthos did not answer, or even made like he had heard Aramis at all. Aramis had already resigned himself to another night of unspoken horrors creating a void that he could never, never cross, when finally Porthos looked at him.

His eyes were bloodshot and filled with such a desire to be close to him that Aramis automatically moved to sit beside his boyfriend on the bed. He slowly reached out and clasped Porthos' hand. The fingers were closed in a fist so tightly, they were going white. "Darling, talk to me," Aramis pleaded.

Porthos drew in a shaky breath and Aramis felt the hand loosen. "I never knew where I came from. Not knowing who your father is tends to be a side effect of children whose mothers are cheap hookers. I used to dream, once, about finding out who my father is. I dreamed he would be someone important, a firefighter, a doctor, someone who mattered, you know..." Porthos trailed off, a bitter smile on his face, "I gave up that dream a long time ago, but the feeling always lingered. Now… now I think I was better off not knowing."

Porthos clenched Aramis' hand so tightly that Aramis had to stop a gasp from escaping. "How could someone do something like this to their own blood? That… that _animal_! D'Art's his nephew, and he…"

Aramis cupped his boyfriend's cheek with other hand. "D'Art's safe now, darling. It's okay breathe."

Porthos closed his eyes, his shoulders sagging as he leaned towards Aramis, who caught him in a hug.

"We will get that bastard for what he did to d'Art. He will never get to d'Art, not until there is breath left in Athos, you and me," Aramis said, his voice a furious whisper. He combed his fingers through Porthos' hair, feeling the bigger man take deep breathes trying to calm down. "Besides, love, no one knows better than the three of us that family does not only mean blood. We've found each other, haven't we?"

Porthos nodded against Aramis' shoulder, too spent to reply. Aramis leaned back, not letting go off Porthos, so that they were lying down, still fully clothed, their limbs entangled together.

"Sleep my love," Aramis whispered, kissing Porthos lightly. The man already seemed to have dozed off. "I'll keep watch."

Aramis knew it was going to be a long night when Porthos woke up with tears streaming down his face ten minutes later.

* * *


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little heads up: My knowledge of anything related to French law regarding child adoption and any other legal stuff extends to a few hours spent googling and trying to make out french websites. So yeah. For any lawyers out there, I'm sorry for messing around. Also do you mind getting in touch? I might have a question. Or a thousand. :)

Saturday mornings usually meant late breakfasts with Athos, Aramis and Porthos trudging down around noon, and the rest of the day spent lounging around the TV, playing one of the several new games on the console, and later getting the grocery for the coming week and making dinner. By d’Artagnan’s rule, no one was allowed to work – that one had cost Aramis. He had lost a bet to d’Artagnan that he wouldn’t be able to get Athos to follow that rule. Sure enough Athos had been working diligently on a case file on the next Saturday. D’Artagnan had walked over, made sure it wasn’t an extremely important case which Treville would kill them for not finishing, and taken the file away. Athos had simply looked at the teenager in exasperation. After a short staring match during which d’Artagnan had pulled out his ace in the hole and brought out the puppy dog eyes on full glare, Athos had given in with a smile and nodded.

Aramis had paid up grudgingly, not entirely convinced Athos wasn’t in on it.

Saturdays were supposed to be good days.                

They were not meant to be days when everyone was woken up by a loud banging on the door and several police officers along with a prim petite lady entering the house. D’Artagnan came out of his room and froze.

Athos stood, clad in his pajamas talking to someone on the phone and Aramis and Porthos looked ready to start breaking bones.

The lady noticed him enter and made towards him. “D’Artagnan?” she asked. Too shocked and confused to speak, he nodded.

“My name is Maria Philippe. I’m with the Child Welfare services. I’m here to take you back home to your family.”

D’Artagnan stared at her. Home? Family?

_Oh God!_

His breathing quickened and his vision blurred. The woman’s alarmed cry barely filtered through the pounding in his head. His legs gave out and he sank to his knees.

Athos was talking to Treville, telling him of the welfare worker whom Henri had no doubt sent. D’Artagnan’s uncle was trying to force his hand. The threat alone hadn’t worked. Athos wasn’t worried about whether he and the guys would be able to send Henri’s ass to jail, he was concerned what would happen to d’Artagnan during the time the case ran its course.

He had _promised_ the boy he wouldn’t let him go back, he had given his word. Treville seemed to think that he could talk a judge into granting Athos temporary custody until the matter could be resolved and Athos could apply for the boy’s legal custody once Henri’s claim had been nullified. But Athos was adamant that d’Artagnan not be forced to leave his house, _home_ , for even a day. 

He was talking to the DA about that when out of the corner of his eyes he saw the welfare lady make her way towards a sleep eyed d’Artagnan who had obviously just woken up. Before he could shout to the others to stop her, she was talking to the boy. Athos cursed as in a matter of seconds d’Artagnan’s face went from sleepy and confused to _terrified_.

He hung up with a quick ‘I’ll call you back,’ and made his way over to the boy who had sunk to his knees, pushing away the concerned lady asking him what’s wrong. He barely kept himself from strangling her with his bare hands. He knew she wasn’t at fault but no one was allowed to make d’Artagnan look that petrified. Not on his watch, not under his roof.

He knelt down, cupping d’Artagnan’s face in both hands and forcing his head up. “Son, _look at me_.”

The intense quiet command had d’Artagnan focusing immediately. He could make out Athos’ face, right _there_. It looked worried and… _afraid_. D’Artagnan felt his world tilt. Athos was _never_ afraid.

He stared at Athos willing the fear to disappear from the older man’s face, and clutched his shirt. “Athos?”

Athos nodded, a little relief that d’Artagnan had recognized him through the panic. “Yeah, that’s right.” He caught the hand that was feebly trying to hold his shirt, and pressed it to his chest. “Now, I want you breathe,” he said, taking slow deep breaths himself.

D’Artagnan closed his eyes and nodded. He kept panting for several seconds but Athos could see that he was trying to calm down. It wasn’t working.

He pulled the boy closer so that d’Artagnan’s head was against his chest and he held him tight, locked in an awkward hug on the floor. He could feel the lanky frame trembling in his arms and it took everything for him to quell the rise of anger.

It wouldn’t do for him to lose his cool when he was trying to calm the kid down.

Slowly, slowly d’Artagnan’s breathing evened out as he matched Athos’. He did not open his eyes, though Athos could feel his hands become tighter. “Good boy. Now do you remember what I promised?” d’Artagnan nodded. “Right, do you trust me?” Another nod.

Athos pulled back a little, cupping the boy’s face again and waiting until he opened his eyes. “Then do you have anything to worry about?”

D’Artagnan smiled. A soft, hesitant smile that righted Athos’ world which did _not_ tolerate a panicking, scared d’Artagnan. Athos nodded and smiled back, ruffling his hair. “You are going to go into the kitchen and get some breakfast while I see to these people.”

D’Artagnan nodded again, after a second. Athos stood up, helping the boy up as well. He looked pointedly at the kitchen door down the hall, not letting the boy focus on the large number of people behind him. “Go on.”

D’Artagnan looked hesitant. “Are you sure?” Athos simply tilted his head and stared. A moment later the boy nodded and turning walked into the kitchen.

 

Athos turned.

Aramis had taken hold of the lady and was sitting with her on one of the couches. Porthos was standing between the policemen and the room, his body completely blocking the door. Athos walked over to where the lady was sitting.

“Ma’am.” He waited until she was looking at him. “D’Artagnan is not going to go anywhere. If it is his Uncle Henri who has sent you, you should know that that pathetic excuse of a man tried to assault his nephew which led to him running away from home two years ago.” He held up a hand to indicate he wasn’t done, when she made to speak.

“My friends and I, we are lawyers. We are well aware of the rights that, as his legal guardian, Henri has. But the circumstances here make an entirely different case altogether. I have talked to the District Attorney. He will be here shortly with a court order to let d’Artagnan stay here while we charge his uncle with everything from assault and use of force on a minor to attempted rape of a minor in his care. You are welcome to wait for Treville here, but I assure you the police officers are entirely unnecessary.”

The lady looked lost. She had, as Athos had suspected, no idea what she had walked into. Sending the child welfare services on them was a gesture, a powerplay on Henri’s part, intending to perhaps intimidate Athos into giving him whatever he wanted.

Athos thought the man was a fool as well as a worthless piece of shit. He had no idea what kind of hornet’s nest he had just kicked open. By threatening to take away d’Artagnan, he had just signed over his own freedom to Athos.

Maria nodded after a while. “You said the DA is on his way?” Athos nodded and she got up, walking over to one of the policemen and said something to him quietly. Th0e man nodded and gestured for his men to follow him out.

Aramis nodded and clapped his hands once, looking up at Athos. “So boss. On a scale of ‘beaten up and left bloody somewhere’ to ‘never seeing the world without bars again,’ how badly are we going after Henri?”

Porthos walked over, having seen the men to the door and Athos raised an eyebrow.

“Threatening to take away d’Art, sending policemen to the house and depriving me of Saturday morning sex?” Porthos said, counting on his fingers, “that bugger has pissed me off very _very_ badly.” He looked at his boyfriend and the two of them shared evil sadistic grins.

Athos nodded. “That’s right. We are going after him with _everything_.”

 

“If it is the guardian under suspicion of assault then that makes the boy a ward of the state, Treville.” Judge Borden did not look too happy to be dragged into a meeting at the ‘ass-crack of dawn,’ as he had put it. But he owed Treville a favor. Or twenty. So he was sitting behind his desk, his robes thrown over a sweater and trousers instead of the usual crisp suit and his eyes studying the man intently.

Treville nodded. “I am well aware sir. It means that the boy will go into the system.”

“Then what do you want me to do?”

Treville levelled him with a stare. It was his very famous stare that had always gotten his superiors at the army to do _exactly_ what he had suggested. It hadn’t failed him in a courtroom yet, either. No judge or jury could resist the stare. He was rumored to have _stared_ confessions out of murderers and rapists.

“I want you to grant Athos temporary custody of the boy. He is a lawyer under me who found the boy on the streets several months ago and has been caring for the boy since.”

The judge frowned, “This is the same Athos the uncle demanded money from?”

Treville nodded and the Borden sighed. “Then giving him temporary power would only incite the uncle into claiming your man has coerced the boy into agreeing and is forcing him into something. It’ll serve to make the case harder instead of easier.”

“You can’t let him go to the system. Athos would not allow it.”

Borden sighed. “But there is nothing else I can do. It’ll only be for a short while until the case gets sorted out.”

Treville shook his head and frowned, “You know how long these cases tend to drag on for sometimes. Who knows how long it is till we get proof? D’Artagnan has only recently stopped being scared and settled down into his life. It’ll be a major step back for him to be forced away to an unknown place like this.”

Borden sighed. “Then what do you suggest I do?”

“You can’t grant Athos custody?” Treville asked and Borden shook his head. “Then grant me.”

Borden looked at him, surprised. “You want me to grant you custody of a fifteen year old boy you know nothing about, till the whole case gets resolved? Like you said yourself, these things can take a while.”

Treville nodded. “I know, and I do know something about the kid. I know that Athos cares for him.”

Borden raised his eyebrows but did not comment on the rare show of sentimentality. “Alright, but you are aware that for there to be no later claims against Athos, the boy will have to be in your care until the matter is cleared out?”

Treville sighed. “Athos won’t be happy, but he will accept it.”

Borden tilted his head. “It’s an interesting group of people you work with, Treville. Makes me almost miss the days I was DA.”

Treville smiled. “Sir, you have no idea.”

 

To say that Athos was not happy was an understatement.

The lady from the welfare service had left, when Treville had announced the judge’s decision and shown her the papers. She would be back at Treville’s to check if d’Artagnan was settling down alright later.

But Athos had flipped. He had looked at the paper in Treville’s hand and then at then man, looking so wounded and betrayed that Treville had felt the insane urge to tear up the papers, apologize and beg for forgiveness. “He isn’t leaving.”

Treville had tried to explain what the judge had said, how it would be better if d’Artagnan remained with an impartial party till the case was resolved, how this protected Athos from potentially being charged with coercion of a minor, how he would take care of d’Artagnan but Athos had simply shook his head.

“I made him a promise. He will leave this house only when there isn’t breathe enough left in my body to fight for him to stay.”

Treville had thrown his hands up in despair at that, turning to Porthos and Aramis, hoping for a more reasonable approach to the problem from them. They had shaken their heads resolutely. “Not coming in between this, sir,” Aramis had said, for once showing a level of tact that was unheard of from him.

It had been then that d’Artagnan had stepped forward from where he had been standing at the door, listening to everything. He had knelt in front of Athos, who was sitting on the couch with the court orders in his hands, the older man not meeting the boy’s eyes.

“Athos.”

The quiet voice had Athos coming out of his planning and list making and detailing. It was a dangerous battle his mind was playing, the lawyer in him arguing that Treville had a point and the military part of him measuring out the weaknesses of his enemy’s defense and the time it would take for him to grab d’Artagnan and make a quick brutal escape.

He blinked and stared at d’Artagnan’s face. The boy had an expression of resigned acceptance on his face. “D’Art…”

He wanted to explain to the boy that he would have to leave, that he was breaking his word; that he _couldn’t keep his word_ ; that he was going to fight tooth and nail to get him back as soon as possible. But no words followed the desperate utterance of the boy’s name.

D’Artagnan nodded, understanding. “It’s okay,” he said, a soft smile on his face. Athos shook his head.

“No, you don’t understand. It’s not okay. I made you a promise…”

D’Artagnan took his hand in both of his, “I know. You promised me you will never let any harm come to me.” He raised his eyebrows. “But do you remember what you told me about Treville?”

Athos thought about it and nodded. The boy had mentioned that his first meeting with the DA had left him slightly terrified and he had reassured him. “I said that he is the only man after Porthos and Aramis whom I will trust with you.”

D’Artagnan gave him a pointed look. “Didn’t think you would have to stand by that did you?” he tried to sound playful and flippant, but Athos’s face fell as tears welled up in his eyes.

“D’Art, please,” Athos whispered. He looked at his friends in turn, both not meeting his gaze. He turned towards his mentor and boss. The man he would give anything to. Anything but this. “Sir, please don’t ask this of me.”

Treville’s throat clogged up. He had never seen Athos look so worn out, so _broken_. He could feel his own heart break a little at the complete anguish on the man’s face. Treville knew what horrors life had shown Athos. He was loathe to take what little comfort that he had found in the boy’s company away from him. But there was nothing he could do. It was his house, or some unknown institution. He looked away, unable to meet Athos’ eyes.

Athos sighed, a tear making its way down his cheek.

D’Artagnan did not want to leave. He knew there was no place that he would feel as safe as when he did with Aramis and Porthos and _Athos_. But he knew he had to. From what the DA had said, it sounded like Athos could get into trouble if he stayed with him. And any man that Athos trusted was alright in d’Artagnan’s book. But he couldn’t leave with Athos looking like that.

He had seen that look before. It was the look boys who had known that there was nothing left to live for had gotten on the streets, shortly before they succumbed to drugs or prostitution. It was a look he had come close to seeing in the mirror, his sheer stubbornness being the only thing which kept him going.

It was a look he had never wanted to see on Athos’ face.

But he had no idea how to convince Athos of something he didn’t want to do himself. He squeezed the hand he was holding in both of his and leaned forwards, resting his forehead on Athos’ knee, closing his eyes.

Athos did not move for a while. He couldn’t understand, D’Artagnan seemed ready to go. How could he? He breathed in and out, trying to think through the haze of panic which arose with the idea of losing d’Artagnan, no matter for how long, no matter into whose care. He knew it was for the best. He knew there was no other way. He also knew that this was as hard for d’Artagnan as it was for him, and he was only making it worse.

With that thought in mind, he nodded, running his free hand through the kneeling boy’s hair. D’Artagnan looked up and Athos tried to smile.

“I’ll get you back,” Athos whispered, though he winced at the unspoken ‘I promise,’ in his tone.

D’Artagnan’s trust in him shone through his smile. “I know.”

The boy got up and went into his room. For a second, there was silence in the hall. None of them had seen Athos like this before. To Aramis and Porthos he was the strong willed leader, to Treville he was the sharp, loyal protégé. Never before had they seen him show such compassion towards someone so openly. He would rather show his affection through actions than words, he would rather jump in front of a bullet aimed at you than hug you and tell you it was okay.

Aramis cleared his throat. “I’m going to make some breakfast.”

Porthos nodded and went upstairs. He came back down a few minutes later holding a duffel bag and went into d’Artagnan’s room.

Treville sat down on the couch beside Athos, who sat, head bent, staring at his hands. He put a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’ll look after him.”

Athos did not say anything for a while. When he turned towards the older man, Treville was gratified to see the familiar determined glint in his eyes instead of the awful torn look. “Let’s get to work then.”

XXX

D’Artagnan did not like not knowing.

He remembered when he was a kid, his mum and dad would talk about things quietly and hush up when he entered the room. He used to pester them endlessly to tell him what they had been talking about, but his mother would start fussing with him and his father would smile somewhat sadly. When he had grown a little older, five years old he remembered, his dad had told him that his mother will be going to God soon. D’Artagnan remembered not wanting her to leave, God did not let people come back to visit, and he had cried as he had held his mother’s hand.

Years later his father had told him that his mother had died of a rare form of bone cancer.

D’Artagnan hated not knowing.

He had packed up a bag and left with Treville soon after a quiet breakfast. Aramis and Porthos had each given him a hug and told him to not let Treville scare him too much. Athos had however simply nodded and patted his shoulder, as if afraid that if he hugged him, he wouldn’t let go.

Treville’s house wasn’t far. D’Artagnan was a little heartened to know that it was near the office. But he knew the others would be focusing on getting Henri, instead of dropping by for social visits. Athos had gone into intense lawyer mode even before d’Artagnan had left, pulling up his laptop and barking at the other two. By the time he had packed and gotten ready, they already had a solid amount of research done into the time Henri had spent at London.

But now sitting on the table in Treville’s lounge, trying to finish off the homework assignments for the weekend, d’Artagnan had no idea what his friends were doing. It wasn’t unusual, spending a day without the three around. They had demanding jobs that kept them at the office until late evening usually. But knowing that they were out hunting down Henri’s old acquaintances, was making d’Artagnan slightly uneasy. What he had known of the man, Henri had not kept decent company. Still, he reasoned, it would require an entire army to bring down Athos and the other two, and that too if the army took them by surprise.

The DA was in the kitchen, preparing something to eat probably. He had led d’Artagnan to a small room which looked to be his office, with a large desk taking most of the space. There was a single bed and a small wardrobe and he had apologized for the mess. D’Artagnan had tried to protest that he would simply take the couch, not wanting to inconvenience the man into giving up the use of the office but Treville had assured him he didn’t require anything from the room.

Any further arguments were met by a raised eyebrow and a stare which would put even Athos’ to shame. D’Artagnan had quietly unpacked after that. He had only brought a couple of jeans and shirts, not really knowing how long he would be away from… home.

The thought had made his heart clench rather painfully and he had sat on the bed, staring at nothing in particular and trying to apply Athos’ methods to stop himself from going into a panic attack. It had however been a short concise text from the man, rather than his breathing techniques that quelled the panic threatening to rise in d’Artagnan.

_Have good leads, will be working from office. Not breaking your rules._

D’Artagnan had smiled. Athos had a thing against text speak as well as emoticons. He found both rather baffling.

Treville came back from the kitchen holding a plate with a large sandwich. He placed it in front of d’Artagnan and took a seat on his right. D’Artagnan closed the chemistry text he had been reading.

“Just got off the phone with Athos,” Treville said, “he’s fairly confident that if Aramis and Porthos are successful in their respective tasks, we will have a solid case against your uncle.”

D’Artagnan nodded his head. Treville gestured at the books. “How are you finding school?”

D’Artagnan swallowed to clear his voice before answering, “It’s great. The only class I have a little problem is math.”

Treville chuckled, “Yeah, I know the feeling.” D’Artagnan looked at him, head tilted in question, “I have a son. Jon hates math. Changed his major in university when he found out he’ll have a semester of doing math.”

“I didn’t know you had a son.” D’Artagnan picked up the sandwich. “How old is he?”

“He’s twenty four, he studies at King’s College in London. We have family there.” Treville said, taking a bite of his own sandwich.

D’Artagnan nodded. “Do you miss him?”

The older man did not answer for a moment and d’Artagnan wondered nervously if he had asked something wrong. “Not so much as I thought I would,” Treville said eventually. “Work doesn’t give me enough time to miss him and Athos and the boys are enough of a handful to not let me forget what it is to have him around.”

D’Artagnan smiled at the man’s mock annoyance. “You’ve known Athos a long time, haven’t you?”

“Very. I knew his father, he was a dear friend.” Treville said, nodding. “I think it was because of me Athos decided to study law at university. His dad wanted him to go towards business, look after the family empire, but he wanted to ‘catch some bad guys and see justice done.’” Treville chuckled. “His words, not mine. That thirst for righting all the wrongs in the world was what made him enlist too, though I wish he hadn’t done that.” The old man paused, as if debating whether to go on. D’Artagnan looked at him with interest, silently hoping he would. Athos’ past was shrouded in mystery and Treville was talking about it like Aramis and Porthos never did. D’Artagnan wasn’t one to pry but even he could tell that the couple usually changed subjects subtly whenever Athos’ past came up as a topic.

Treville must have seen the curiosity on his face for he continued, “The army took away most of the naivety and idealism from those three. When they came home, they seemed to have aged like only men who has seen the cruelty of man from up close do.” Treville shook his head as if to clear it of such morbid thoughts. He smiled ruefully. “Sometimes I think those three have been born in the wrong age.” D’Artagnan raised his eyebrows, and Treville elaborated, “with their chivalry and sense of honor and need for justice, they should have been born a few centuries ago. Changing the world wasn’t so complicated then.”

D’Artagnan thought about it and grinned. “Yeah, I can see those three in leather armor, brandishing rapiers and going on swashbuckling adventures together.”

Treville threw his head back and laughed. “That would make a fine sight, wouldn’t it?”

D’Artagnan grinned, surprised at how young the DA looked when he laughed. Treville got up and picked up both their plates, ‘I’ll leave you to your work, holler if you need anything.” He walked away to the kitchen after ruffling d’Artagnan’s hair, causing the boy to groan. If Treville took to doing that too, at this rate he’d have to get the haircut Athos kept threatening him with.

Treville moved to the sofas, a little way from the table, opened up his laptop and taking his mobile out, he settled down with his work.

They had a case to crack. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should warn for a long chapter, a brief, non graphic scene in which a minor OC gets raped, and canon typical violence.

Athos wasn't one to flaunt his money. He was a man of simple tastes, not requiring much to keep him going.

Unless it was d'Artagnan whom the money was to be spent on.

Aramis had discovered this quite early into their acquaintance with the young lad. Where d'Artagnan was concerned, Athos pulled out all the stops. He had almost gone overboard while buying the furniture for the boy's room, only its size stopping him from buying a whole wall unit with nothing but bookshelves when he had learnt that d'Artagnan was an avid reader. Indeed all kinds of books had found their way into the already extensive library upstairs.

Now as Aramis walked away from the helicopter that Athos had rented, knowing they would have to get to and from London quite frequently if the information that Athos had dug up turned out to be true, he thought about whom he was going to meet.

In the years that d'Artagnan and his father hadn't seen Henri, he had wasted away most of his trust fund money on drinks and gambling, drowning in both alcohol and debt. His finances were, Athos had found out, in deplorable state. Several phone calls to some of Henri's ex-business partners revealed that he had taken loans from most of them and then disappeared.

But that wasn't why Aramis was in London. He was here to meet a certain Sophia Gomes. Digging deep, deep into Henri's records, Athos had found out that he had gotten married at twenty two, two years after shifting to London, and the marriage had ended in divorce a quick four months later.

They hadn't found out much about Sophia Gomes: the Gomes family, being from a wealthy background must have gotten their daughter's fiasco of a relationship buried too deep. Though the way Athos was working, turning every stone and sniffing in every nook and cranny, it wouldn't take him long to call in favors and get the files unsealed.

That would however take time. Athos had sent Aramis over to talk to the Gomes family in the meanwhile. See if they would be willing to come forward and speak about Henri's character.

Aramis gave the cab driver the address he had received in a text and it didn't take long for the cabbie to get stuck in London traffic. Aramis sat back, and opened his phone checking for texts from Porthos. His boyfriend was busy tracking down Carl Patrick who seemed to have gone underground ever since Henri's visit at the house.

He sighed and typed a text anyway: _reached L. cot in traffc. hows search gng?_

It took a minute before his phone pinged, a reply from Porthos bringing a smile to Aramis' face. _Slow, asking in bars. Guys a douchebag. Everyone remembers him though no one has seen him recently._

Once again the unbidden thoughts of a lovely breakfast in bed along with slow morning sex they could be having on Valentine's instead of being in two separate countries entered Aramis' mind, but he dismissed them immediately. D'Artagnan was a lot more important than any missed date. And it wasn't like as if Porthos was going anywhere. Aramis smiled, relaxing.

Forty five minutes later Aramis opened his eyes when his brain registered that the cab had stopped. He paid the man and got out, the large red and white mansion in front of him not impressing him in the slightest. Large sprawling houses that were more lie palaces failed to inspire any feelings of intimidation or awe in him. He knew Athos after all. The man owned a lake house that was bigger than this one, and none of them even liked it there.

A brief conversation with the housekeeper who opened the door had Aramis waiting in an old fashioned sitting room with heavy drapes and plush sofas. Aramis frowned. He preferred modern, sparse décor instead of all this pomp. Taking out his phone he read the text from Porthos and frowned: _I'm pretending to be homeless, isn't that funny?_

He didn't think it was: _Sure, immensely so_.

There wasn't any reply for quite some time. Then Aramis had to keep away the phone as a tall man entered the room.

He was dressed in a crisp shirt and trousers with a brown sweater pulled over. The wrinkles on his face put him around sixty in Aramis' estimate, and his stylishly peppered hair looked more dyed than aged. He had a stern look about him but Aramis smiled, standing up.

"You must be Mr. Gomes." He held out a hand, "My name is Aramis. I'm a lawyer from the DA's office in Paris."

Mr. Gomes' eyebrows shot up. "And what possible business could a lawyer from Paris have with us?"

Aramis sat down again when the man did too. "It's about your daughter Sophia."

The man's expression, became even harder and he visibly tensed. "What about my daughter?'

"A few years ago your daughter was in a relationship with a man named Henri Phillips…"

The man shot up, his fists clenching, his face going a deep red with anger. "We do not speak of that name in this house. Please leave, you are not welcome here."

"Sir please, hear me out," Aramis pleaded.

Mr. Gomes regarded him coolly. "I am sorry, but I cannot allow some lawyer to dig up a very painful past for my daughter for his own benefit."

Aramis shook his head, "This man Henri has a nephew, a young boy of fifteen, whom he is a legal guardian to. Two years ago, the nephew ran away from home when Henri along with some friends tried to assault him sexually. The boy has been living with us for a few months now and he is a good, smart kid who does not deserve any of this. But the uncle is back now and he wants to take us to court over his custodial rights."

The old man shrugged, impassive. "While that story is indeed very sad, it neither concerns me nor my daughter. We have no relationship to that man nor his family. I've heard enough -"

Aramis looked at the man giving him his most earnest expression. He marveled at the fact that he did not even have to fake it. Where d'Artagnan was concerned, the intensity was a hundred person sincere. "You're a father. Tell me, would you let your daughter go back to a man she has successfully escaped?"

The man's face, which had been an inexpressive mask throughout, cracked at that. He frowned, "My daughter regrets ever getting into a relationship with that vermin. He was an abusive alcoholic and we got her away as soon as we found out." He folded his legs in front of him. "No child deserves to be given into the care of that monster. That is why I've kept my daughter's records buried so deeply." He took a deep breath, "he doesn't know of this, but their short marriage left my daughter with a son. My grandson, Elijah, is nine years of age. He does not know anything of his father, and Sophia would like to keep it that way."

Aramis stared at the man in surprise. Henri had a son that he was unaware about? He had left his pregnant wife? Aramis felt for the mother and child but he couldn't help but think this did wonders to their case. A father who didn't even know he had a son, would make a poor guardian to someone else's.

"Sir, I am terribly sorry for your daughter's misfortune but this can help us in the case. Would you be willing to go on record with this information?" he asked, hoping that Gomes would agree.

"You will not talk to my daughter or my grandson. I will not have them dragged into this." Gomes said, his voice brokering no argument. Aramis' face fell, at his refusal. "But you can have my statement against the man. If that helps then I am glad, but I am not willing to put Sophia through memories she would rather leave behind." Mr. Gomes said.

Aramis breathed a sigh of relief. "I understand completely sir. And if you have to appear in court?"

Mr. Gomes nodded. "I would do all I can on my behalf."

Aramis looked at him, deeply grateful. "Sir, trust me when I tell you my two friends and I cannot thank you enough. We have come to care for young d'Artagnan as if he were family and even the thought of leaving him with Henri is enough to sicken me."

Mr. Gomes smiled and Aramis found that his stern expression dissolved to reveal a kinder, much softer face. "If that is all that motivates you, you do not have to thank me. I understand a father's concern for their child's well-being all too well."

Aramis nodded and switched on the recorder.

An hour later he was walking out of the house to the waiting car. Mr. Gomes had told his driver to drop him off at the helicopter. He needed to get back immediately and tell the others of the good news. Gomes' statement had the potential to completely turn the tables in their favor. No judge in their right mind would discard the statement of the head of a respectable family to be false, and the statement itself was damning.

He took out his phone to send Porthos a text, to find one waiting already: _i thnk i have a lead_

It was received fifty five minutes ago. Aramis frowned but did not reply. Porthos was probably in the middle of some pub or something, following someone. He got into the waiting car and watched the streets go by.

It wasn't until the helicopter had landed and he had gotten down and was walking to his car, that his phone rang. The familiar photo of Porthos sleeping with his mouth open flashed on the screen and Aramis picked up immediately.

"Ara… Aramis, I think I need help…" The voice broke off.

Aramis' hands trembled and he ran to his car.

XXX

The only thing on record about Carl Patrick was that he owned a record shop in a rundown district of Paris. The bubblegum chewing girl at the rec shop had told him that Carl was an ass, he hadn't been to work for four days and that he was an _ass_. Porthos had asked her where he could find him, she had told him to look anywhere from the bar down the corner to the Louvre Museum.

He glanced at his phone, there was a text from Aramis telling him he had reached London. A slight pang went through Porthos' chest. The two men had always worked best when they were together, anticipating each others needs and making up for the others weaknesses. They had been a legend on the battlefield, a force to reckon with. Them and Athos' sharp edged battle plans were what had made their unit the most desirable one for the most deadly missions.

He shook himself out of those thoughts. He may not like working like this but d'Artagnan needed their help and he had never been known to back down from helping out family. He quickly typed in a reply hitting send and then burying the phone in a carefully sewn pocket in his coat. It would not do to lose it in some mugging.

Porthos had decided to start with the bar. It was a dingy place with a few seedy looking men scattered around and a chubby scantily clad woman at the bar, wiping the counter. He sat on a stool and ordered a whiskey.

It tasted like ass. He downed it in one go and ordered another.

He had dressed down for the excursion, forgoing his suit for a tattered pair of jeans with an old faded shirt and a large coat shabby coat thrown over. He did not look out of place among the bar's occupants.

"Drowning your sorrows, love?" the barkeeper asked smiling at him sweetly. Beneath the too heavy makeup, she was actually not bad looking.

Porthos smiled back at her, "No, I'm trying to look for someone actually?"

"Girl ran away with your heart?"

Porthos chuckled. "A man actually, told me his name was Carl. Carl Patrick I think, you know him?"

The woman frowned. "Love, you would be better off without him in your life. He isn't the kind of guy a nice boy like you should be thinking about."

Porthos looked at her, interested. He tried to flutter his eyelashes at her and blush. He didn't even know if he _could_ blush. He thought about what Aramis had told him was going to happen on their first chance to get away as soon as the Henri problem settled down. Sure enough he felt his cheeks heat up. "What can I say, I have a type." He did, it was called Aramis.

The woman got busy with pouring out the drinks for another trucker who had taken a seat down the bar. Porthos took the time to discreetly check his phone which had vibrated during his conversation with her. There was a message from Aramis asking about his search, he typed in a quick reply and kept the pone back.

"He isn't a nice man. Drinks here often, and starts fights. I would throw him out but then I need the customers," the woman said. "Last I saw him he was leaving with a young boy. Don't know where he went then."

Porthos nodded and stood up, leaving a good tip with the payment for the drinks. The woman looked at it surprised and was about to call him back to tell him he'd left too much money, but a shake of his head and a quick smile made her pick it up and keep it away. Porthos left the bar, walking down the street.

It was one of those streets where all the splendor and glamor of Paris did not reach. The houses were broken down shacks, the people skeletal frames dressed in rags. Porthos' heavy built and foreboding manner of carrying himself kept the thieves and other unsavory types away, though he could feel the hair on the back of his neck standing. He was being watched, that much was evident.

Porthos had learned quite early on to find humor even in the darkest pits of hell that life had taken him. Even in Afghanistan, no situation was dire enough for Porthos to get completely serious and stop quipping one liners. His CO before Athos, had not really understood his witty snarky remarks in the heat of battle, while being pelted with bullets from all sides. In Athos' team, he was the one who usually kept spirits high when they were fucked three ways to Sunday. There, his ability to crack a smile had been appreciated, even looked up upon. Aramis had told him that the men used to say about him that if the grim reaper himself came to Porthos wielding his scythe, Porthos would tell him off for his drab sense of fashion.

Irony was an old pal of Porthos'.

He couldn't resist sending a quick text to Aramis, ': ' _I'm pretending to be homeless, isn't that funny.'_

He wasn't sure if Aramis would get it, the man had the habit of getting oddly subdued whenever Porthos tried to make light of all the years he had spent without a roof over his head. Porthos had learned to laugh about it, his lover hadn't. Porthos didn't think he ever will.

Sure enough he got a reply back, heavy with sarcasm. ' _Sure, immensely so.'_ Porthos sighed, and kept the phone back.

He walked over to where several young boys were huddled together, none of them much older than d'Artagnan. They had a fire going in one of the empty bins and were trying to get some heat into their bodies. Porthos joined them, standing quietly for a long moment before speaking.

"Any of you seen a man round here; short, bald with a thick mustache. Has a loud voice and likes to throw his weight around?"

None of the boys answered, no one even looked at him. He nodded. "If you can tell me where to find him, I have a matter to settle with him. It'll probably take him away from these areas."

He turned around and continued walking down the street knowing that he would be followed. He turned into a quiet dark alley and waited. A minute later a scrawny dirty kid, around eighteen years old appeared from behind the overflowing dumpsters. He stood with his shoulders hunched and his eyes darting around warily.

"You a cop?"

Porthos shook his head, "No, I'm not."

The young man nodded, "What do you want from Carl?"

"I have something to discuss with him."

"He ain't the type for discussions, if you get my meaning."

"Do you know where I can find him?" Porthos asked, pointedly looking bored at the insinuation.

The man nodded. "He has a flat in the area. I can take you to him but…"

Porthos raised his eyebrows at the panicked look on the young man's face. "You can just tell me where to go. You don't have to come with me."

"It ain't that." The young man shook his head. He looked hesitant for a second before squaring his shoulders. "My little brother is with him. Stue fancies the ass for some reason, says he has promised to take him off the streets."

Porthos drew in a slow breath and nodded. "I have a little brother whom he tried to hurt too. That's why I need to find him."

A small smile came upon the kid's face then. "Then what are you waiting for?"

Porthos had taken the time to quickly text his boyfriend about the possible lead, before hurrying after the man.

They entered a decrepit building, four storeys high, with the paint crumbling off the walls and the doors painted an ugly red. The man gestured for Porthos to go inside. "This is where I leave. If that bugger gets you, my neck's not gonna be next."

Porthos nodded thanking him gruffly, though fully aware that the man could possibly have led him to a trap. He cracked his knuckles and walked in. He had brought a gun and a couple of knives, but he didn't think he would need either of those things. Items in his hands just slowed him down. it was his hands themselves that were his main defense. In Afghanistan when Aramis would settle on some high eagle's nest and pick off the rebels one by one through the lens of his sniper, Porthos would stride in, right into the thick of everything, mostly armed with nothing but his fists.

He wasn't the best close combat specialist in all of France's army for nothing.

He went inside, walking up the stairs which looked ready to fall down any minute and reached the fourth floor. A door was open, he could make out a couple of men sprawled out on couches a thick haze of smoke surrounding them. They were completely out of it and none of them matched Carl's description.

He pushed open another door barely hanging on its hinges. A topless woman was getting back into her jeans and she startled when she saw him. He quickly moved out, seeing no sign of any short fat man.

That left one door and Porthos took a deep breath before pushing it open. Whoever the building had belonged to had given up on locks a long time ago, he must have had too many of them broken to care anymore. The door swung open with a creak and Porthos stepped in.

It was a small room with a dirty mattress on the floor on top of which was a young boy, around fifteen years of age, was bent over and being pounded into relentlessly by a grotesque looking man. He was clutching the kid's hips to hold him in place and his head was thrown back.

Porthos' blood boiled as he took in the pained expression on the kid's face and he strode forwards, grabbing the man by the shoulder and pulled him away from the kid. Carl went flying backwards, having been taken by surprise.

He spluttered furiously, his large ugly cock leaking in a vulgar manner. "What the fuck?"

Porthos glanced at the boy who had gone limp on the mattress too tired and hurt to move. All too easily his mind replaced the quivering naked form with d'Artagnan, terrified and alone, at the mercy of this sick bastard. A cold rage settled over him as he turned towards the man who had gotten to his feet and was looking at him enraged.

"You and I need to have a little talk," he said, his calm voice not betraying any of his anger.

"I'll tell you what you need to have!" the man spat out, striding towards Porthos. "You need to have my dick buried so deep inside your ass that you…"

He was cut off when Porthos punched him in the face. The man stumbled back but to Porthos' surprise, stayed on his feet. "Why you motherfucking piece of shit!" he charged at Porthos, tackling him to the ground, but Porthos rolled over, pinning the man down under him instead. He punched him in the stomach once, knocking the breath out of him.

"How does that feel asshole?" he growled, grabbing his swinging arms and pushing his knee into his chest until he felt the man give in and stop struggling, trying only to breathe through the pressure on his chest.

Porthos relented after a while and Carl gasped loudly, drawing in a huge breathe. He glared at Porthos who smirked. "What do you want?" he rasped out.

"Like I said, we need to talk. About your friend Henri."

The man smiled at him, his fat mustache glistening with sweat and spit. "Henri. No idea who you are talking about."

Porthos rolled his eyes. He swung a hand back and punched the man. Hard. Carl's eyes rolled back and he went limp.

He pulled out his phone and saw that Aramis had left him a couple of texts telling him that his part of the mission had been successful and he was heading back. Porthos sighed in relief and dialed his number, his boyfriend picking up immediately.

The connection was very bad, and Porthos could barely make out the urgent 'what happened?'

"Aramis…" Porthos frowned at the static. "Aramis, I need your help," Porthos managed to say before the call was abruptly cut off. He stared at his phone in disgust. He texted Aramis his address, hoping it went through before looking for something to tie up the man at his feet.

He found a broken lamp and pulled out the wire using it to secure Carl's hands behind him, frowning in disgust at his limpid cock. Once he was satisfied that the repulsive asshole wouldn't be going anywhere, he walked out, going outside. The boy needed a familiar face right now. Porthos went to get his brother.

XXX

Aramis had tried to get Porthos' location from his GPS, but that was taking too much time. He had a vague idea where he would be though, having been there when Athos had given Porthos the address of the record shop that Carl Patrick worked at, and he drove furiously. He was barely paying any attention to how many red lights he ran, how many rules he broke and how many honks followed in his wake as he pressed at the accelerator relentlessly, weaving around cars, overtaking some and honking at others to get out of the way. There was only one thought in his mind as he gripped the wheel tightly with both hands.

He needed to get to Porthos.

It was a mere ten minutes later that he had entered the rundown area the shop was located in and he slowed down, glancing around. His sleek black Mercedes was extremely out of place in the neighborhood and he could make out shabbily dressed people huddling together on street corners, staring. He did not pay them any attention, realizing however that his phone was blinking with a text. He looked at the message from Porthos, it was an address. A building number along with a description. Surely if Porthos was well enough to text, he was alight? Bur Aramis' anxiety would not be quelled until he saw his boyfriend for himself.

He peered out of the windows, all the buildings looking the same to him. Getting frustrated and losing all semblance of the little patience he had been holding on to, he pressed down on his horn. Hard.

The sound reverberated throughout the area, and Aramis saw several people start in surprise. An angry yell sounded but Aramis paid it no heed.

_There_.

A young boy, no more than eighteen at most was waving his hand, gesturing for him to come closer. Aramis drove over, reading the barely visible number on the building and seeing that it matched the one Porthos had given him. He rolled down the window, and the boy leaned over to say something. Aramis did not wait to listen, getting out of the car hurriedly instead, having caught sight of Porthos coming out of the building.

Aramis gave the man a quick once over, there was some bruising on his face but other than that, he looked perfectly fine. Aramis let out a sigh of relief as the tension dissipated. Then he noticed the fat, naked, bound and unconscious man that he was dragging.

He hurried over and opened the trunk of his car, helping Porthos dump the man in and shut it. He grabbed the taller man by the lapels of the huge coat he was wearing and pulled him into a deep kiss, pouring out all the anxiety he had felt on being separated from the man and then thinking that he was hurt. Porthos let him ravish his mouth for a few minutes before he pulled back.

"Everything okay?" he asked, snaking one arm around Aramis' waist.

Aramis nodded, resting his head on Porthos' chest for a moment, listening to his heartbeat. He closed his eyes. "Yes." He looked up and glared at his boyfriend a minute later, pulling back a little to give him a light punch. "I thought you were hurt!"

Porthos looked surprised before realization dawned. "Oh," he said. He shook his head, grinning apologetically. "No, the phone crapped out. No signal." He looked at Aramis, pouting. "Though I _am_ hurt you think I can't handle a pathetic bugger like him."

Aramis grinned. "Yea, about that. What's up with the birthday suit?"

Porthos' face grew grim. "I found him going at a fifteen year old kid. That guy's brother. I told him you'll check him out but he refused, insisting he was fine." Aramis had tensed at the mention of the young boy. A whole new wave of hatred swept through him directed at the man in the trunk and he smiled, a sadistic gleeful smile.

"Then let's give him the complete protocol, shall we?"

Porthos smiled in return. "Oh, yes."

"Oy fellows!" A loud brash voice caught both Aramis' and Porthos' attention. "You lovebirds lost?"

Porthos looked around with narrowed eyes. A tall somewhat muscular man with a curling black tattoo covering one side of his face was cracking his knuckles, walking towards them slowly, his posture intended to intimidate. Aramis nudged Porthos and the latter looked around to see that there were similarly built men, around seven of them, approaching from the streets.

"Lovely ride you have there, boys," Tattoo Boy spoke up. "Wouldn't mind having a go at it myself."

Porthos and Aramis looked at each other, sharing amused grins."Something funny, you filthy _pédale_?

Aramis nodded, still smiling. "You boys want your necks intact, walk away."

Porthos chuckled and one of the heftier men growled showing dirty teeth. "Vir, let's teach these faggots a lesson."

Aramis and Porthos broke apart, each standing in a well-practiced back to back pose. The men hesitated for a second before charging at the duo. Porthos ducked the first man's fist, jamming his elbow into his stomach and sending him sprawling on the ground. Aramis was busy demonstrating a few moves he had made up himself, borrowing from the various forms of martial arts he knew. If Porthos was the more brutal one of the two, Aramis made up what he lacked in sheer strength with an agility and grace that the other man couldn't help but envy. In close combat Aramis moved with a precision and flow that Porthos usually teased him about. Porthos was of the opinion that his boyfriend wouldn't look out of place fighting with a sparkling thin rapier, wearing a ridiculously large hat and managing a sweeping impractical cloak. Or in a ballet hall.

The street thugs had nothing on the fierce, trained special forces soldiers, and it was a matter of seconds spent shattering bones, kicking out knee caps, breaking ribs and in the case of one of Porthos' assailants, who had come at the man with a knife, stabbing in the thigh; and the two men were standing, back to back, panting slightly with several men lying around groaning and moaning. Aramis and Porthos turned to each other, assessing the others condition. Aramis had a cut lip which was bleeding slightly, one of the men had almost gotten him on the face and he had been wearing a ring. Porthos hadn't manage to dodge out of the way of a poorly aimed kick and he was rubbing at his side. Aramis raised an eyebrow in question and Porthos straightened to show him that he was okay.

Aramis smiled, "What was I saying before we were so rudely interrupted?"

"You were talking about how we shouldn't deprive our guest of the complete protocol." Porthos grinned.

"Call in Athos?"

Porthos grimaced at the question and shook his head. Athos was a right pleasure to be around right now. Ever since he had left for work in the morning, having seen d'Artagnan off to Treville's he had been barking and yelling at anyone not working diligently. Treville was staying home with the teenager and the office with its sparse crew of lawyers on a Saturday was completely under Athos' control. He had pulled several lawyers from their own cases, getting them digging into Henri's background and had started making calls left and right, pulling in every favor he was owed by anyone ranging from the CEO of one of the biggest multinational company of France to a janitor who frequented a strip club that Henri had been spotted at.

Having seen him in this mode before, Porthos and Aramis had known well enough to stay out of his way. Porthos had jumped at the chance of working the streets to find the friend and Aramis had gone as far as London to escape Athos' righteous wrath.

"Let's not bring him in just yet," Porthos suggested. "We need Carl alive, not beaten to death."

Carl woke up to find himself on his knees in some dark place, gagged and bound with two men with matching grim expressions on their face, staring down at him.

He was still naked.

Aramis and Porthos glared down at him and both of them smiled. The man at their feet whimpered.

"Time to tell us all you know about your friend Henri," Aramis said, his shirt sleeves rolled back and his muscles flexing under the thin fabric.

Porthos nodded. "I bet he's going to say, 'I've got no idea who you're talking about."

Carl looked between the two, his face betraying his fear. Aramis smiled. "Then we'll have to hurt him."

"At which point he'll suddenly remember he used to be best pals with him."

Carl shook his head trying to mumble through the gag.

Porthos glanced at Aramis, "Why wait?" Aramis lifted his shoulders in an eloquent shrug. "Let's just hurt him now."

Carl looked positively terrified by now. He shook his head frantically trying his best to speak through the gag. Aramis looked at him with an eyebrow raised and leaned down causing him to flinch. "When I remove this gag, the only words I want to hear are you confessing to all yours and your friend's extracurricular activities. Is that clear?"

The man nodded, his eyes wide and Porthos smirked and took out a large knife. He advanced towards the man, who started squirming, trying to get free. Porthos grabbed him by the hair and cut off the cloth tied around his mouth. The man's shoulders sagged in relief.

"Now, talk," Porthos said and Aramis took out a recorder.

XXX

D'Artagnan was walking down the alley, laughing as his father recounted some humorous story from his days in the army. Suddenly there was a man, his face covered with a mask, his eyes wild. A loud noise echoed and his father fell.

D'Artagnan screamed through the rain and fell to his knees besides his father, seeing Athos lying in a pool of his own blood, face deathly pale, eyes wide and staring. D'Artagnan shook his head, weeping, sobs racking through his body. He looked up at the laughing man. Henri had an evil sneer on his face, his gun pointed at d'Artagnan.

D'Artagnan closed his eyes as there was another loud noise.

"D'Artagnan, wake up!"

D'Artagnan shot upright, looking around the unfamiliar room wildly. He had tears pouring down his cheeks and… and, where was he?

A face became clear to his sleep addled brain. "It's okay. It's okay. It was just a bad dream."

Involuntarily, d'Artagnan shuddered, the image of Athos' pale dead eyes staring at him flashing through his mind. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Treville studied the young boy carefully. He obviously looked like he was trying very hard to calm himself. After several seconds of deep breathing d'Artagnan opened his eyes and looked at the DA, blushing.

"I'm sorry for disturbing you."

Treville brushed off the apology with a dismissive wave of his hand, getting up from the bed and rubbing his neck to work the kink that had settled with bending like that. "You don't have to apologize, it's okay. Are you going back to sleep?"

The boy had retired to the room Treville had given him, wanting to take a nap after being emotionally and physically tired out from the events of the day. It was near evening that Treville had heard loud frantic sounds coming from the study, sobs and whimpers following. Treville had wasted no time in entering the unlocked room and shaking the boy awake, though not before he had heard a frantic and desperate ' _Athos!_ ' wrench free from his lips.

It had been heart breaking.

D'Artagnan shook his head. "No, no I don't think so."

Treville nodded. "Come outside then, when you are ready."

He left the room offering the young boy some privacy. He had kept twiddling with a pendant around his neck and the watch on his wrist absent mindedly. Treville sighed. He needed the kid to stop looking like a kicked puppy, so sad and forlorn. Pulling out his phone he dialed a number.

D'Artagnan was sitting in front of the TV flickering through channels when the doorbell rang. "Get the door, it's probably the pizza guy!" Treville called out from the kitchen. D'Artagnan got up and opened the door.

On the porch stood three very tired but very satisfied lawyers.

D'Artagnan stepped back silently as Porthos walked in first, ruffling d'Artagnan's hair and kicking off his boots. Aramis followed his boyfriend quietly giving the boy a quick hug before taking off a filthy coat. Athos was last. D'Artagnan breathed a sigh of relief as he examined the older man as he came in, took off his shoes and put down his briefcase.

He looked tired and weary, but not injured or hurt in any way. D'Artagnan felt a weight he hadn't known he had been carrying since the nightmare, lift. He stepped forward and almost fell at the older man, who automatically brought his arms around him, giving him a tight hug. He pulled back a moment later, looking at d'Artagnan intently. "Everything okay?"

D'Artagnan nodded. Now, yes everything was okay.

Treville came out of the kitchen, grinning at the sight before him. Aramis and Porthos had settled on the couch, Porthos trying to get the TV remote out from under himself without getting up and Athos was being helped out of his coat by a content d'Artagnan.

"Right boys, I've ordered enough pizza for everyone," Treville smirked when Aramis and Porthos looked towards the dining table eagerly, "Then after dinner, I want everyone's reports on the case." This time there was a collective groan from all three men but they nodded.

The bell rang and Treville went to get the food, all of them settling down in their boss's house. He wasn't really one to socialize and have his men over to his place unless it was only for a few minutes to collect or deliver something important. But this once, Treville thought, he could make an exception. The satisfaction on d'Artagnan's face as he protested when Athos piled his plate with three large pizza slices, outshone the knowledge that his bathroom was on Aramis' list of places to have sex in.

He tried and succeeded into not thinking about that.

Until next morning.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, Long chapter wasn't it? Now be a dear and leave a comment below. I would love to hear what you think.


	10. Chapter 10

"You're early," Treville said, opening the door to let Porthos in. The lawyer nodded, rubbing his hands together to get some feeling back into them, and kicking off his shoes before entering the carpeted hallway.

"Yeah, I figured d'Art and I can grab some breakfast before I drop him off," Porthos said. Treville gestured towards the door to the left of the hall.

"I don't think he is up yet," he said. "You go wake him up, I'll put on some coffee."

Porthos knocked on the door, opening it when he got no answer. The room was dark, but Porthos could make out d'Artagnan's thin form sitting on the bed. He reached for the light and switched it on, causing the boy to flinch at the sudden brightness.

"Jeez kid, you look like hell," Porthos said. D'Artagnan's face was tired and pale, with dark prominent circles under his eyes. He was sitting with his back to the sideboard, knees drawn up to his chest. The sheets did not look rumpled. Porthos did not think the teenager had slept for a single minute throughout the night.

D'Artagnan nodded, "Hi."

Porthos walked over to the bed and sat down, placing the bag he had brought on the floor. "I got you clothes," he said, "you know, to get ready for school."

D'Artagnan was silent for a minute, and then, "School," he sighed. "Why does it matter? I mean what's the point?"

Porthos raised an eyebrow, not used to such questions from the teenager. D'Artagnan wasn't usually one to sit around, wallowing in self-pity and over thinking things. But, Porthos conceded, the kid was going through quite an ordeal, what with having to face a past he had thought he had left behind. He was entitled to a little bit of angst. "What do you mean?"

D'Artagnan sighed, "I mean, what's the point in pretending I'm like everyone else? School is someplace kids who aren't dysfunctional people on the run from their own families go to. It's not for someone like me. I was putting up an act so far, living a hopeless dream that I dared to have, that I would fit in and leave everything behind. Someone like me, you believe that?" D'Artagnan looked away, his voice derisive. "Besides, it's just a matter of time, isn't it?"

Porthos did not like where this conversation was going. "A matter of time before what, d'Art?"

D'Artagnan kept staring at the floor, not meeting his gaze. For a minute, Porthos thought he wouldn't answer, but then the teenager clenched a hand into a tight fist and said in a tight voice, "A matter of time before I'm out there on the streets again."

Porthos drew in a sharp breath, not trusting his voice enough to speak yet. D'Artagnan looked at him, his expression one of resolute determination. "Whatever happens, I'm never going to go back with Henri, and I'm not going to a foster home. I'd be better off on the streets when it comes to that, so all things considered, it's just a matter of time…"

"You are going to shut up and listen very closely to every word I say now, is that clear?" D'Artagnan was cut off by Porthos' quiet authoritative statement. The lawyer waited until d'Artagnan was looking at him, an eyebrow raised.

"I know exactly what you feel like, kid. But one thing you need to understand right now. You _did not deserve_ what happened to you. It _wasn't_ your fault. You weren't _weak_ for letting it happen. _There was absolutely and utterly nothing that you could have done to prevent anything from happening."_ Porthos clasped his hands in front of him, raising one leg off the floor and tucking it under him on the bed so that he was completely facing the teenager. "I know what it is like to be immensely grateful for the simplest good thing in life, because the absolute worst is the expected norm. It is not like that, d'Art. That was my life for a long time, and for some time yours too. But not anymore. You hear me? I _will_ _not_ stand for this negative attitude of yours and all this self-insulting. I don't take kindly to anyone who insults my family, understand?"

D'Artagnan stared at the older man, at a loss for what to say. Somehow, the man had understood exactly what was going around in his head, what he did not even have the words for yet, and had laid his thoughts bare. He let his eyes close.

Thing was, there had been no one to blame. His life had collapsed around him and there had been no one to blame. He couldn't have held his father responsible for getting shot. The man who had shot him, perhaps, but then he had nothing to do with what happened after. Henri, too he did not blame. There was anger, resentment, bitterness, even fear; but the blame did not lie with him. D'Artagnan had been given no reason to expect anything _other_ than what he did, from the man. Blaming god did neither god, nor d'Artagnan any good.

That left himself. Everything that went wrong with his life, he had chalked it up to something that was lacking in himself. He wasn't brave enough, or old enough, or smart enough, or mature enough, or determined enough. When he went hungry for days on the streets, he wasn't a good enough thief. When he couldn't find a place to sleep, he wasn't adaptable enough to make do in the open like the others did. When he got beaten up, he wasn't strong enough to fight back and win.

And now things were on the verge of going wrong. All over again. After finding some semblance of a normal life, everything was threatening to fall apart and there had been one thought in d'Artagnan's head ever since Henri had shown up on Athos' doorstep three days ago: _where had he messed up this time?_

And here Porthos was, telling him that it wasn't his fault. Didn't he see? He spoiled everything he touched.

He felt a hand on his cheek and he opened his eyes to find Porthos brushing away a tear that had been making its way down his cheek. "Son, I have been where you are now, so I know what I'm talking about. God above knows, I know. When Mr. de La Fère, Athos' dad, took me in I had a hard time fitting in at first. I would constantly be on my guard, not trusting anyone, and basically waiting for the other shoe to drop. I was a right pleasure to be around too. I would pick fights all the time and I particularly hated Athos. He had everything I didn't, a family, and a home… a father." Porthos smiled softly, remembering a time which seemed so distant and insignificant now.

"I wasn't very good at making friends when I started school. I actually punched Aramis so hard the first time he tried to talk to me, I broke his nose. Athos and he always used to hang out together, and I guess I was jealous of their easy friendship. I never thought I could have that with anyone, I wasn't like all of them."

D'Artagnan was watching the lawyer intently, drinking in every word he was saying. "Then what changed?" he asked, when Porthos paused in his recollection.

Porthos grinned, pleased that he was finally reaching the teenager. "I wasn't good at making friends but that didn't mean I didn't make myself plenty of enemies. Some of the bigger boys would make fun of my accent and I would mouth off at them. It was a daily thing, but one day they decided to take it further. They surrounded me in the middle of the parking lot after school one day and started pushing me around. There were so many of them, and I thought I was done for. A lot of people were watching, and they just stood there, not wanting to get involved. They started yelling at the jerks to hit me. All everyone wanted was a fight, to see the weird new kid get beaten up. I was surrounded by people who wouldn't not just not help me out, but would actually enjoy seeing me get beaten up. At that point, I had had enough. I knew that I had to get out, that there was nothing for me here amidst privileged assholes who thought they were better than everyone because their dads had fat paychecks. Then Athos and Aramis walked through the crowd, and came to stand by me."

D'Artagnan looked at him in exasperation when he stopped, "Go on, what happened?"

Porthos shook his head. "Athos told them that if they wanted to fight me, they would have to fight the two of them as well. Let's just say, it wasn't pretty. By the time the teachers pulled us away from each other, no one was left uninjured. We got into a lot of trouble, both by the principal and Mr. de La Fère, after. But that day, I knew that if there were ever two people I can count on to be there, it was Aramis and Athos. Since then there has never been a day that has passed that I haven't thanked god that I didn't remain the thickheaded ass with a chip on my shoulder that I was."

D'Artagnan sighed. "I wish I could do that too, have an epiphany moment after which I just stop thinking that everything's going to go to hell. But…"

"But you're afraid to hope. You fear that as soon as you get comfortable and let yourself trust people again, they would turn on you or it would turn out to be a lie, and then you would get hurt. I know, I get it." Porthos caught one of d'Artagnan's hands in his own and squeezed it. "But kid, you're not like that. You're stronger than I was. Even after everything that happened, you managed to keep your innocence, your ability to trust. Don't lose it now over this minor bump in a long long road."

"You think Henri is a _minor_ bump in the road?"

Porthos nodded. "I don't know why you're so worried. We aren't exactly the kind of lawyers to lose cases. I mean, have you met us? Besides, we cannot possibly lose this one, the amount of evidence keeps piling up against Henri, and we are going to keep at it until we have enough to send him away for a long time. He has no idea whom he has messed with, no one gets away with attacking family."

D'Artagnan smiled and Porthos was gladdened to see some of the haunted look disappear from the teenager's face as he whispered, "You promise?"

"Do I promise that Athos, who has turned into quite the slave driver lately, is going to work us until we have handed Henri's ass to him?" Porthos nodded, grinning. "You bet I do. Not just that, but we'll also look awesome doing it."

This time the grin that d'Artagnan gave him was wide and happy.

XXX

Treville raised an eyebrow as he walked into the conference room that Aramis, Porthos and Athos had commandeered for the duration of the Henri case. Usually with the three of them in a room, one could easily expect anything from pencils stuck on the ceiling in the shape of the fleur de lis that the trio had dubbed as their logo, (it was not, goddamit, official, no matter how many memos Aramis passed around with it as the header,) to two of them having a swordfight on the table, while the third called off pointers while _Game of Thrones_ theme music played in the background.

Treville had given up being surprised at their antics a long time ago, but the sight of all three quietly sitting there, working, was enough to cause him to blink. He took in the intense look on Athos' face as he typed on the computer and the furtive glances Aramis and Porthos kept sending each other, each daring the other to break the silence. Aramis actually breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Treville enter, and Athos raised his head, shutting the lid of the laptop and looking at him expectantly.

Treville mentally winced. He wasn't going to like this. "Gentlemen, I have news. The judge signed off on Henri's arrest warrant, and officers are being dispatched to bring him right now."

Porthos kept down the pencil he had been playing with, "Who's assigned the case?"

Treville paused, taking a look at the file in his hand, "Officers Gerald and Keller."

Porthos frowned - he did not know those guys – but Athos just kept staring at Treville. "I hear a but coming up," the lawyer said.

"But the court date has been set three months from now," Treville said, fully expecting the instant change in Athos. His face got wiped of all expression and he stood up, a hand outstretched.

"Who's the judge?"

Treville sighed, "Athos, I tried. Believe me I did. There just isn't a date free before this one."

"So you're telling me that d'Art cannot come home for three months, that he has to spend three months in constant worry of whether that asshole Henri is going to somehow get away, that this is going to go on for three months?" Athos shook his head. "Just tell me who the judge is, sir."

Treville silently gave him the file and Aramis and Porthos started getting up. Athos shot them a glance, "Don't. I'm doing this by myself."

Aramis started to protest, but Athos was already out of the door before he could utter a complete sentence.

XXX

Judge Colin Borden had a reputation. He was notorious for chewing out lawyers who tried to get him to reconsider one of his cases. Had Athos been in his right mind, his self-preserving instincts would have kicked in and he would have given up on the suicidal plan.

Unfortunately, he was not in his right mind.

It was only the third day that d'Art had been away from home; and already the three of them were missing the kid. Athos had found Porthos in d'Art's rom this morning. He had started picking up clothes and books when Athos had walked in, but it was obvious that he had been sitting there for quite some time. Athos didn't think he had gotten any sleep. Even Aramis had become quiet and subdued. The only time he laughed and was his usual self was when he talked of d'Artagnan, which was often.

None of them could go through three months. It was unthinkable.

Athos was brought out of his thoughts by the secretary gesturing at him. "He'll see you now." Athos fought the urge to gulp - the secretary had a smug smile on his face.

Judge Borden took in the lawyer in front of him. So this was Athos, Treville's famed protégé. The man had a slightly creased suit on, with a tie that despite the precise knot clashed with the shirt. It was probably borrowed. That and the three day old stubble on his face were the only signs that the lawyer was under pressure, otherwise his sharp blue eyes did not betray anything of his emotions.

Borden gestured to one of the seats and Athos sat down with a nod. "Mr. de la Fère. What can I do for you?"

Athos cleared his throat. "I'm here to ask you to reconsider the date that you have set for the custody case Treville brought to you."

Borden nodded, "Yes, Treville told me about the kid. But I'm sure he also told you about the unavailability of any dates prior to the one I assigned the case." Athos nodded and started to speak but Borden raised a hand. "And since the last three hours that I talked to him, what makes you think there is suddenly an opening?"

"And what if there was, sir?"

Borden rose a surprised eyebrow, "Ah yes. I've been meaning to ask: exactly what did Judge Brady owe you? In all the years I've known him, the man has never missed an appointment, and the morning my secretary tells you there is no empty slot to get an appointment with me, he calls to let me know that the matter he wanted to discuss could wait."

There was the faintest trace of a smile on the lawyer's face as he shrugged, "Nothing important. I arrange the covert security detail for his teenage daughter on her unsolicited outings. I explained the matter to him, and he understood."

Borden studied the man in front of him for a moment, before shaking his head, grinning. "You really are Treville's man, aren't you?" The lawyer smiled in return, though the tense lines of his shoulders did not relax. Borden leaned back in his chair, "Son, I'm not heartless, I get what you're going through. But there is a matter of protocol that I have to consider. I can't have you interfering with god knows how many cases to try and get someone to reschedule."

Athos closed his eyes for a second, before opening them again and Borden was struck speechless. The blue orbs which a moment ago had been completely devoid of all emotion, were so full of anguish now that the young man's entire face transformed into the weary expression of someone whom life had put through one crucible to many. "Sir, I'm not worried about myself, it's d'Art that I'm thinking about. A fifteen year old should not have to go through three months with the threat of the only chance at a normal happy life he was ever going to have being taken away from him, hanging over his head."

Borden sighed, "I see you're not going to give up." Athos remained silent. "You're sure you'll be able to get someone to listen to you?"

"I am."

The confident reply had Borden smiling. "Well, I really do want to see who else is there on that list of people who owe you favors." Athos blinked, surprised and Borden looked at his watch, "And besides what with getting Brady to cancel, you have just cleared my afternoon for me. That hasn't happened in almost six years now."

"So you'll reconsider the date if I provide an opening?" Athos asked, not believing his luck. He realized he hadn't actually been expecting to get Borden to change his mind.

Borden nodded, "Yes, I will." He smiled as the tension leaked out of Athos' body and he relaxed. "Now this has been an interesting meet, but if there isn't anything else I would really like to see what the sky looks like in the afternoon."

He started to stand, but Athos leaned forwards in his chair, "Actually sir, there is just one more thing."

Borden paused, eyebrows raised. "Is there?"

Athos nodded, "The officers assigned to the case, "Officers Gerald and Keller, none of us know them. I would really appreciate it if it was someone I knew interviewing d'Art rather than a stranger."

Borden narrowed his eyes, "You really like pushing it, don't you?" Athos remained silent, staring at him with earnest eyes. "And who would you prefer?"

"Officers Marcus and Ronan, sir."

Borden was silent for a minute, before nodding. "Alright, fine. Now, and this isn't an actual question, is there anything else?"

Athos stood up, buttoning up his coat, smiling. "No sir. That is all." Borden stood up as well, shaking the lawyer's hand, studying him thoughtfully as he bowed his head a little and turned to leave. He was almost to the door when Borden called out, "Athos."

He turned, "Yes, sir."

Borden took off his glasses, placing them on the table. "I'll be expecting your call. Good luck."

Athos nodded, "Thank you sir."

XXX

It was all so surreal. His world was threatening to come down around him and yet there was school.

D'Artagnan had remained in a tired daze throughout the first three periods, just shuffling from one class to another, not really paying attention to the teachers. It wasn't till the fourth period rolled around and d'Artagnan sat down in his usual place in the History classroom, that he noticed something amiss. The seat besides his was empty. Constance was seated in the first row, reading the text book intently. Not only that, he was also getting odd looks from the rest of his classmates as they filtered in and took their seats.

It took d'Artagnan a moment to remember all that had happened: the gift, the fight with Bonacieux, the summons to the principal's office and the talk with Athos after. Thinking back, it all seemed so inconsequential, so unimportant and petty, with all that had happened since. To think that just two days ago his biggest worry was whether Constance would like the gift that he had gotten her. That the worst thing he had been scared of had been getting shouted at by Athos for getting into a fight.

It was just two days ago, and yet d'Artagnan felt like a lifetime had passed since then and now.

D'Artagnan was shaken out of his thoughts by a nervous voice, "Hey, is this seat empty?"

He looked up to see a blonde boy looking down at him, one hand tugging at the strap of his backpack. D'Artagnan started to shake his head but then noticed the full classroom and nodded instead, "Yeah, yeah it is."

The boy sat down, letting his bag fall on the floor besides him. He leaned over, flipping d'Artagnan's book to see the title before getting out his own copy. "I'm Andrew, it's my first day here. What's your name?"

"Hi, I'm d'Artagnan," d'Artagnan replied, distractedly. He was trying to figure out why Constance was not sitting at her usual place. He suppressed a groan, she was probably not happy about the whole beating up her boyfriend and getting him suspended business.

Speaking of, he had to remember to look out for Bonacieux's buddies. He didn't think the seniors would be too happy about their pack leader being suspended from school.

"So what's it like here?" Andrew asked.

"Huh? Oh, I'm new here too. It's just been a few weeks actually," d'Artagnan told the boy. He seemed to want to talk and d'Artagnan tried his best to smile. "You here from the states?"

"Oh yeah. My mom recently moved to Paris, she has family here. So here I am," Andrew replied, an easy smile on his face. "What about you? You moved from somewhere too?"

"Oh, nowhere as far away as the states. I used to live in Gascony," d'Artagnan said, "But my dad died and I live with my uncles now." It was as good an explanation of his living conditions as any, and it wasn't like as if Andrew was about to launch an investigation to verify his story.

The boy's freckled face took a sympathetic expression. "I'm sorry about your dad, man. Mine is just a plane ride away and I find that hard. You must miss him a lot."

"I do, but my uncles are great," d'Artagnan said. He was stopped from saying anything further by a stern look thrown at him by the teacher, his usually impeccable behaviour probably the only thing saving him from a strict telling off by Miss Fitz. She didn't really approve of the whole peer discussion thing.

The rest of the period went by in a whirl of nudges from Andrew as he googled all the answers to the questions Miss Fitz asked, intent on sharing them with d'Artagnan; and d'Artagnan trying unsuccessfully to catch Constance' eye. She was definitely avoiding him. He had to talk to her.

When the bell rang however, she was among the first to leave. D'Artagnan had only gathered up his books when he saw her walk out, earphones plugged into her ears. If he hurried, he would still be able to catch up with her before she got to the canteen. He was about to rush out of the classroom after her when he was stopped by a tap on his shoulder. He turned to find Andrew grinning at him.

"You mind showing me around?" he asked with a bright smile. "I don't want to get lost and find myself with my head down the toilet. I've made a resolution to make it through at least a week without that happening."

D'Artagnan looked at the door for a moment longer, before turning to Andrew. "Sure, no problem. Grab your things." He knew all too well how difficult it was to be the new kid.

The two of them exited the classroom together, by which time there was no sign of Constance anywhere. "So that happens here a lot then?"

D'Artagnan looked at Andrew in confusion. "What does?"

Andrew flushed. "You know, messing with the new guy, picking on people, bullying, all that stuff?"

D'Artagnan shrugged, scanning the corridor for any sight of Constance. "I didn't get bullied when I started. Everyone sort of just ignored me. It's too big a school to have that kind of stuff be the common thing. There are a few seniors who can get aggressive and turn into jerks but you keep out of their way and you'll be fine."

Andrew seemed to breathe a little easier on hearing that. "Well, that's a relief. At my old school back in Detroit, anything from stealing your money to locking you in the gym closet was the common thing. It wasn't a very nice school."

D'Artagnan stopped walking. They were almost at the cafeteria. "Listen, if you're looking to stay away from the jerks I mentioned earlier, you'll do well to stay away from me." Andrew looked at him, surprised and d'Artagnan continued, "I got into a fight with one of them, a senior, who got suspended. With the kind of luck I'm having nowadays, his buddies will be waiting for me in there."

"And your plan of action is to walk right in?" D'Artagnan nodded and Andrew grinned. "Well, you've got some balls, I'll give you that. What did you get in a fight for?"

D'Artagnan's face turned dark as he thought about the terrified look on Constance' face when Bonacieux had almost hit her. "He had it coming." Andrew rose his eyebrows inquisitively, interested. "He tried to hit a girl."

"The same one you were eyeing throughout class?"

It was d'Artagnan's turn to look surprised, causing Andrew to grin even wider. "I'm slow, not stupid, dude. It's obvious that you like her."

D'Artagnan sighed. "Yeah well, she's pissed at me right now, so there's that."

"Dude, have you talked to her?" Andrew asked, rolling his eyes when d'Artagnan shook his head. "Then talk to her. I'm sure it can't be that bad."

D'Artagnan looked skeptic. "The guy was her boyfriend." Andrew made an ' _oh, well there's that'_ face and d'Artagnan grinned humourlessly. "Anyway, you go on in and find a place to sit. I'll follow in a bit, so that you don't get involved in this mess."

Andrew stared at him for a minute, head tilted to one side. "You know, now I think about it, what's the fun in high school without getting my head stuck down the toilet once in a while?" He grinned.

An eyebrow raised in surprise, d'Artagnan laughed. "You're something else, aren't you?"

Andrew stuck out a hand. "My friends call me Drew."

"Mine call me d'Art."

Andrew looked relieved as he fell in step besides d'Artagnan. "Thank god, I was thinking of shortening d'Artagnan myself. I mean, d'Artagnan. Wow. That's like, long, you know?"

D'Artagnan laughed, as they entered the cafeteria together, and made their way to the salad bar. D'Artagnan doing a quick once over to make out where Constance was sat. She wasn't there. He was so engrossed in looking for her, that he did not notice the several senior boys who had gotten up when he had entered and who were now walking towards him. Andrew gave him a nudge, "Hey, I don't suppose all of them just really wanted salad, eh?"

There were around six of them, all of them big and burly. D'Artagnan had dealt with three together, he didn't know if he could do the same with six. And four of them were football players too. Today was definitely not his day.

D'Artagnan readied himself, feeling a surge of adrenaline. The last thing he wanted to do today was fight, but he wasn't going to go down without one. The boy in the front spoke, "Hey man. We don't want any trouble."

D'Artagnan blinked. Well that was unexpected.

The boy who had spoken, Paul, stepped forwards. "Look, Bonacieux is an ass. He has been throwing his weight around the place for so long that we forgot that." He extended an arm. "He was out of line, and you taught him a lesson. So no hard feelings, alright?"

D'Artagnan stared at his hand for a minute, unsure if this was some kind of prank. He seemed sincere enough, and the boys behind him were also nodding their heads. He looked around. Everyone in the cafeteria had their eyes on him, and most of them were nodding and whispering among themselves.

He stepped forward, shaking his hand. D'Artagnan was prepared for his arm to be twisted and he had braced himself for impact, but Paul let go after a brief handshake. One by one, the boys patted him on the shoulder, moving past him, until d'Artagnan was standing, blocking the salad bar, surprised at the sudden turn of events. Andrew, who had been by his side all along, let out a sigh of relief.

"Looks like no one liked the guy you beat up." He looked at d'Artagnan, an impressed look on his face. "Except his girlfriend, that is."

That caught d'Artagnan's attention. "Shit man, Constance! I've to go find her."

Andrew grinned as d'Artagnan rushed past him, shaking his head at his friend's antics. He sure was an interesting guy.

D'Artagnan found Constance sitting with another girl at the bleachers in the field. She must have been pretty determined to avoid him, it was freezing cold out here. D'Artagnan zipped up the hoodie he was wearing, and started making his way up the stairs. Constance must have seen him coming, for she picked up her things and the two girls started making their way down from the stairs on the opposite side. D'Artagnan changed course to intercept them.

"Constance!" he called out. They weren't so far away now and the girls stopped. Constance turned, her friend nodding her head and moving away a few steps. D'Artagnan made his way to her.

She was standing against the wind, her long hair getting messed up. The flush of her cheeks matched the colour of her hair as she wrapped her hands around herself, the sweater she had on not really effective against the cold. For a second d'Artagnan just stood there, too stunned to talk. God, she was beautiful.

He came to his senses a second later, when the unimpressed look on her face turned to one of irritation. "D'Artagnan. What do you want?"

D'Artagnan racked his brains for an answer. He had been so intent on finding her, that he had not thought about what he needed to say to her once he did. He closed his eyes for a second, getting his thoughts in order. "I wanted to tell you that I was sorry for losing it the other day."

Constance put her hand son her hips and glared at him, "You mean when you went completely insane and beat up three guys, one of whom was my boyfriend?"

D'Artagnan nodded, "Yeah that," he said. "Although I would argue that at least he had it coming."

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, d'Artagnan could tell he had said the wrong thing. Constance' face went dark, the colour rising even more to her cheeks.

"Why? Because he tried to hit me? What gave you the impression that I needed your help? You know, I'm through with you." She threw up her hands in disgust, "You and all the guys like you. You want to play white knight? Go play with some other girl, I'm through with all your condescending shit."

D'Artagnan blinked. "What? You think the entire thing was some ploy to get your attention?"

"So you're telling me that you wouldn't have lost it if I had not been there?" Constance shot at him.

"No. I probably wouldn't have," d'Artagnan conceded, hurrying to continue at the ' _that's what I thought'_ look on Constance' face. "I wouldn't have lost my temper if it had only been me that those assholes were messing with. But had there been anyone in your place and Bonacieux had tried to hit them, I would have intervened."

Constance shook her head, "And that right there is why you're a patronizing ass! You think I want that from you? That I don't get enough of that from my brothers?"

D'Artagnan shook his head, trying to keep a lid on his raising temper. "Look, I'm sorry I lost my temper. I'm not sorry I stopped Bonacieux. There is a difference between patronizing women and respecting them. If I'm showing common human courtesy, I'm not being condescending. At least that's what I was raised to believe. I'm sorry you weren't."

Before Constance could say another word, he turned and walked away. She stood there, too stunned to move for a second, suddenly feeling that there had been something that she had missed.

She was sure she had seen d'Artagnan's eyes glisten with tears just before he had turned away.

XXX

Athos put down the phone with a sigh. It was nearly eight in the evening and five hours now that he had been trying to get in touch with Peter, the lawyer chairing a low key property claim case scheduled a week later. So far, he had not received any of Athos' calls. The lawyer rubbed his eyes, going once more over the schedule Borden's secretary had emailed him. The judge was a busy man, there was no doubt about that.

He looked at his watch and frowned. He should be getting home soon, no doubt Aramis and Porthos had already called it a day. Aramis had come in to ask if he would be going to Treville's later, informing him that he looked like shit and he should clean up if he did intend to go. Athos had only grunted in response then, too engrossed in studying the schedule to pay attention, but he ran a hand across his cheek to confirm his suspicion. He probably did look like shit. He hadn't shaved in at least three days. If he left now, he would able to clean up and then drop by Treville's for an hour or two to check up on d'Art.

Athos checked his phone once more, eyebrows furrowed in concern. The kid hadn't texted him throughout the day, other than to reply to Athos asking about the school day with a short 'it was fine.' That was not like the boy; d'Artagnan had spent the entire day yesterday texting all three of them several times. Aramis had taught the kid some weird text jargon and the messages had become increasingly confounding for Athos, as the day had progressed. Porthos and Aramis had found it hilarious.

Smiling, he closed the lid of his laptop, and his eyes were immediately assaulted by a neon pink… _thing_ sitting at his desk, just behind the laptop. Athos glared at the offending object; it was a small stress toy, shaped like a mouse or a squirrel… or something.

Athos played Aramis' visit to his office back in his head, and he recalled the unusually serious tone the lawyer had had while talking to Athos. That should have been enough to send alarm bells ringing in Athos' head. He snatched the stress toy off the table, suddenly angry.

D'Artagnan's life was at stake here, a single thing missed on their part could take away any chance of him ever coming back home, and here Aramis was, concerned only about jokes and pranks. His face grim, Athos got up. The man was about to get a piece of Athos' mind.

Treville entered the room, holding a folder. "Henri is in custody, and Officer Marcus said to tell you that you owed him. He still had a day left on his leave of absence. And… oh I see you got d'Art's present."

Athos stopped in his tracks. He had been about to toss the stress toy into the bin. "D'Artagnan sent it?"

Treville nodded, his eyes twinkling. He took out his phone to send a quick text, "And I forgot to tell you, if you had been calling Peter, he's out of town. Now if you'll excuse me, I believe you have company."

Athos stared at the DA, his look of confusion turning into one of understanding as sounds were heard outside the door. A second later, Aramis and Porthos entered the office, a grinning d'Artagnan in tow.

The other two lawyers and the teenager took one look at Athos, standing with a file in one hand and the stress toy in the other and burst out laughing.

"God, you should have seen the look on your face!" Aramis exclaimed, when he had caught his breath enough to talk, causing Porthos to laugh even harder. Athos thought about ripping him a new one for a second, before he shook his head and relaxed.

"Yes children. This was very mature. Congratulations." The sarcastic retort did nothing to quell the laughter, and Athos gave the three of them another minute to compose themselves before something occurred to him. "Though, how exactly _did_ you see the look on my face?"

Porthos walked over to Athos and took the stress toy from his hand, revealing a camera where one of the eyes should have been. "Totally worth staring at the back of your laptop for two straight hours, mate."

Treville cleared his throat. "I'll leave you to deal with the kids, Athos. Good luck." He shook his head at the exaggerated look of panic that Athos shot him, before walking out of the office. Had Treville been a religious man, he would have called d'Artagnan coming into Athos' life an act of divine intervention. A few minutes of being close to the boy could put his best lawyer more at ease than Treville had ever seen him. Athos had no idea how good d'Artagnan was for him.

Athos walked over to where d'Artagnan was perched on the edge of his desk when the other two had taken over the couch. "Hey."

The teenager met his eyes, and Athos could see how tired the kid was. "Hi."

"What happened to your phone today?"

D'Artagnan blushed, digging his phone out of the pocket of his hoodie. "It ran out of charge and I didn't have the charger. Treville didn't either."

Athos shook his head, taking the phone from him and connecting it to his laptop before siting in one of the chairs. "Remind me to give you this when you go. Now, when was the last time you slept?"

The question was met with a shrug. "I slept for half an hour after school. Besides, you're one to talk." Athos rose an eyebrow in question and d'Artagnan grinned. "You really pull off the unkempt, too busy to shave look though, so there's that."

"I keep telling him to grow a beard, d'Art. He doesn't listen," Porthos interjected from the couch.

Aramis shook his head, "You keep quite. Your beard scratches."

Porthos caressed his stubble, grinning a his lover. "You're one to talk. Besides, would you rather I shaved?"

The two lawyers were silent for a moment, lost in thought. D'Artagnan looked between Athos and Aramis, confused. "What?"

Athos shook his head, "I… I was trying to remember the last time I saw Port without his beard." He paused, scratching at his chin thoughtfully, "You were fifteen I think?"

Aramis shook his head. "No, no. That was tenth grade right? We dressed up as pirates, he had his beard then. Only reason he won that competition."

"Well, that and my badass swagger," Porthos added modestly.

Athos grinned. "Well, at least he didn't have to visit a dermatologist."

"Oi!" Aramis shouted, throwing a pen at Athos while Porthos dissolved in another fit of laughter.

Athos threw back the pen at Aramis, explaining to d'Artagnan, "In tenth grade there was this Robinson Crusoe play that we had to do, and Aramis tried very hard to grow a moustache to 'get in character.' Nothing he did seemed to work, and he panicked so much thinking that there was something wrong that his mother had to take him to a dermatologist so that he would stop freaking out over it. Turns out he was just a late bloomer."

"This baby was worth the wait," Aramis drawled, twirling his moustache. "The lot of you can just go on being jealous."

D'Artagnan grinned at his friends' antics, amazed and slightly envious, once again, at how much the three of them had shared together.

"So, anyway," Aramis intervened, raising an eyebrow at d'Artagnan's chuckling, "What are we ordering?"

Athos looked surprised. "We're eating here?"

"We might as well," Porthos replied. "God knows when you'll be home." Athos conceded the point with a nod, getting up to get out the stack of menus he had collected in a drawer for such occasions. He threw them at Aramis and the couple got busy arguing over what to order.

Athos took his place back on the chair next to the desk. And d'Artagnan looked at him expectantly. "How's the case coming along? Porthos tells me Henri is in custody?"

Athos nodded. "Yeah, he is. A date hasn't been determined yet for the hearing though." He felt his stomach churn at lying to d'Artagnan but he couldn't possibly tell him that the nearest date right now was three months in the future. That would crush the kid. And anyway he intended to change that, so there was no point in worrying d'Artagnan. "What about you? You didn't have any trouble from the kids at school did you?"

D'Artagnan shook his head. "I was worried about that happening too, but apparently Bonacieux was a dick to even his friends, and they wanted to call it even. Some of them seemed pretty impressed actually."

"So that's a good thing. Why the long face?"

"It's Constance," d'Artagnan said, blushing slightly as he did. "She was pissed."

Athos nodded, "Did you talk to her?"

"Yeah, I might have made it worse," d'Artagnan said, dejectedly. At Athos' raised eyebrow, he continued, "She was under the impression that stepping in between her and Bonacieux was the same as patronising her. I… I don't get it."

Athos bit his lip, unsure of what to tell the kid. He didn't get it either.

Aramis got up from the sofa and walked over, while Porthos dialed the Indian place they had agreed upon. "Kid, you're talking to the wrong person. Athos never had been very smart when it comes to romance and the ladies."

D'Artagnan looked at him sceptically. "Considering he's the only one not gay here…"

"Ah! You wound me!" Aramis cried, a dramatic hand on his chest. A second later, he nodded. "Although, I see your point."

Athos shook his head at his friend's antics. "Not so long ago, Aramis was very much a ladies man."

"I appreciate beauty in _all_ its forms," Aramis asserted. "However your beautiful and complex Constance might be over reacting in this instance."

"Yeah, tell that to her," d'Artagnan muttered.

"Don't worry kid," Aramis said, his voice soft. "You've already shown her that you're a better person than that ass of a boyfriend she has. She'll come around, give her some time."

D'Artagnan smiled at the older man, only a little relieved at his words. He had a feeling there was a lot more to it than just that. 

"Right. The food is going to take some time. Who's up for a game of charades?" Porthos called out, tossing his phone on the sofa. "Athos and Aramis, you're a team and I'm with d'Art."

Athos groaned as Aramis rubbed his hands gleefully. By the time the food arrived, Porthos and d'Artagnan were laughing so hard they were clutching their sides with tears rolling down their faces while Aramis tried and failed repeatedly at getting Athos to guess Rain Man.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jeez this has taken so long, I'm terribly sorry.

Chapter 14:

Anyone who walked past the two well-built men leaning against the sleek black 1977 Lincoln would never have guessed them to be police detectives. Porthos and Aramis however walked right over on exiting the office.

“Alex, Mark it’s good to see you guys,” Porthos greeted them both with a hand shake while Aramis enveloped each in a brief hug. “I see you’re still driving around in that old thing,” Porthos added, gesturing at the shining car behind the detectives.

Alexander Ronan glared at the lawyer, mock indignation written all over his face. “You have to learn to appreciate the beautiful things in life, brother.”

Aramis grinned, “Oh that he does.” He snaked a hand around Porthos’ waist and the taller lawyer bent his head so they could share a quick kiss.

Alex groaned while his partner laughed at the blatant public display of affection. “I forgot you guys were together… This is going to be so much more painful.”

Anthony Marcus slapped his partner on the back of his head. “Hey, there’s no need to be a prude. Besides, aren’t you happy at least we won’t have to deal with all the sexual tension between these two that drove us all nuts back at base?”

Alex shared a grin with his partner as Porthos flushed, “Now that you mention it, that is indeed a silver lining. I remember that one time, I had just gotten back from patrol and the lights were off…”

“Much as I would love to share all the intricate details of how our relationship progressed, we really should be off if we are hoping to be back before the afternoon rush hour,” Aramis interjected loudly. He really did have no qualms about talking about it, but Porthos preferred not to discuss the rocky start of their relationship.

“Are you sure you are feeling alright?” Marcus asked with mock concern, a hand reaching for Aramis’ forehead. Aramis slapped it away and the detective laughed. “Aramis is the voice of reason now, what has the world come to?”

“Grow up already,” Aramis huffed good naturedly, opening the backdoor of the car and getting in followed by the rest of them. Porthos had to win a small battle with the seat before he could hunch his broad shoulders and fold his long legs enough to get the door closed. By the time he was done, the remaining three of them were staring at him with shit eating grins on their faces.

Porthos took one look at Alex’s face sitting beside him in the driver’s seat and he pointed towards the road. “Drive,” he growled, an eyebrow raised in warning.

There was a reason he went around in a goddamn Hummer.

XXX

D’Artagnan sat straight, resisting the urge to let his head fall into his hands and just die. He had messed up big time. Out of all the teachers, it had to be Mr Garhead, the only one who didn’t like d’Artagnan, whose class d’Artagnan had to fall asleep in. In his defense, Mr. Garhead didn’t like anyone. That and the fact that he had barely gotten any sleep last night after waking up drenched in sweat from the same nightmare that he had every night. That had been at one in the night.

Had he only fallen asleep, it wouldn’t have been so bad. But d’Artagnan had not only done that, he had woken up when Mr. Garhead had very loudly called his name for getting a failing grade in yesterday’s Maths quiz, and he had been unable to turn in the homework when asked for it on account of having forgotten all about it. One thing, the surly professor would have let go of, but d’Artagnan did not blame him for losing it then and sending him to Mr. duLac’s office.

D’Artagnan wasn’t looking forward to this. It wasn’t the telling off, or the possible detention that he would get; it was the fact that just last week, he had gotten into a fight and gotten called to the principal’s office. Word of the repeat offense, and that too so soon, would make its way back to Athos and the lawyer had enough on his plate to worry about without concerning himself with d’Artagnan’s immense dislike for trigonometry.

He would take anything the principal decided as his due punishment, but he would make sure Athos was kept out of it. With that thought in mind, d’Artagnan got up and walked in when signaled by the secretary.

XXX

Andrew was standing in the cafeteria, deciding between waiting for d’Artagnan to get back, or getting himself lunch when he felt a hand on his shoulder and he looked up to find Paul grinning at him. “Hey, we heard d’Artagnan got called to the Eagle’s nest?”

Andrew looked at the senior boy, blinking in confusion. Paul looked at him exasperated, “Mr. du Lac, tall, thin, wears those thin wiry glasses, kind of looks like an eagle?”

“Oh, that,” Andrew said nodding his head and piling muffins on a plate. He had no idea how long d’Artagnan would take and the muffins would probably not last very long. They looked delicious. “Yeah, d’Art kind of fell asleep in class.”

“And they sent him to the principal for that?” Paul said, surprised.

“It was Mr. Garhead.”

“Oh,” Paul said, wincing in sympathy. “That old croon has a huge stick up his ass since forever. Hates people whom he feels are not giving their hundred percent.”

Andrew nodded. “Oh he got plenty mad at d’Art. The guy didn’t even have his homework done and he had failed the quiz we had yesterday.”

Paul shook his head sympathetically. “Sucks to be him, man,” he said, before waving at a friend who had called him over and walking off after one last nod to Andrew. The blonde let out a small breath. He did not really trust Paul and his lackeys, he had too many bad experiences involving jocks who were bigger than him at his old school for that, but he did have a point. It did suck to be d’Artagnan right now.

He made his way to a table where some people of his class were sitting, revising for the History quiz they had next period while having lunch. It was only after he had already taken a seat when he realized that he had sat right across from Constance and a friend of hers that she was engrossed in conversation with at the moment. Andrew thought about getting up and moving away, but then decided that would be immensely rude. He also didn’t think he knew Constance well enough to start avoiding her out of loyalty to d’Artagnan.

Besides she looked busy, she had probably not even noticed him sitting there.

“So you hang around with a regular trouble maker and are best friends with the football jerks,” Andrew looked up from his tray to find himself under Constance’s scrutiny. He panicked for a second looking around to see where her friend had gone off too and why she was suddenly interested in him, before her words filtered through. “You really do know how to fit in.”

“Hey, Paul’s not all bad!” Andrew said, “And d’Art’s not a ‘regular troublemaker.”

Constance rose an elegant and extremely skeptic eyebrow at him. “You’ve known him for what, two days? He did get into a fight just last week and he is at the principal’s office again.”

Andrew nodded his head. “I did hear about the fight. I heard about it when he told me to stay away from him on my first day here so that I don’t end up getting picked upon along with him in retaliation. It was pure luck that Paul turned out to be not a complete jackass.” He used his folk to point at Constance. “D’Art’s good people. Right now, he’s just… having a bad day, I guess.”

Constance looked curious. “Yeah, I did notice that. He seems thinner and more worn out than usual, what’s up with that?”

“What do I know? I’ve only known him for two days,” Andrew said, shrugging returning his attention back to the muffin. “He did seem upset yesterday though, after recess, and it had nothing to do with Paul.” Constance narrowed her eyes at the boy across from her and he raised up his hands in defense. “Hey, I’m just saying.”

She rolled at her eyes at his antics. “So you think I should talk to him?”

“I think, judging from d’Art’s state right now, he needs all the friends he can get.”

Constance sighed. “I don’t even know if he would want to talk to me, or what to say to him.”

Andrew tilted his head, “You’re angry with him. It would help if you start with telling him why. He might be smart, but he’s not that smart to have figured out what’s wrong. Then you can see where it goes from there.”

Constance looked at him, surprised. She hadn’t expected actual advice from the quirky blonde, but it seemed like as if she had been too quick to judge.

She seemed to be doing that a lot lately.

XXX

D’Artagnan stood with his hands clasped behind his back and his eyes fixed firmly on the Newton’s Cradle on the table as he waited for Mr. du Lac to finish whatever he was doing and acknowledge him. It was only after several minutes later that the principal looked up from what he had been writing.

“D’Artagnan, back here so soon?” he said, surprise lacing his tone. He subtly glanced at a slip of paper that the secretary had sent in. “So first you’re fighting in the cafeteria, and then you’re failing tests and falling asleep in class. What do you have to say for yourself, young man?”

D’Artagnan looked at the principal, his face contrite. “Sir, it was my fault, I should have been paying more attention and … I’m sorry.”

“As am I. I expected more from you,” Mr du Lac said, his tone firm. He was silent for a minute, taking in the boy’s appearance. He seemed considerably more tired than the last time he had seen him, if he remembered properly. He sighed. “Son, you have a good opportunity here, you cannot afford to waste it by not paying enough attention and falling back in classes. If there’s something wrong, if you need help, you need to only ask.”

D’Artagnan was surprised at the shift in tone. “Sir, I… I just didn’t sleep very well last night and forgot about the test. I really am sorry, I’ll finish up all the work and hand it over to Mr. Garhead first thing tomorrow.”

Mr. du Lac nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. “That would indeed be a step in the right direction. Now, go and get some food before the recess gets over. You look like you’re about to disappear any minute. Your detention slip will be handed to you by Philip.”

“Yes sir,” D’Artagnan said, bowing his head slightly before starting to make his way out. He paused when he was at the door and turned. “Sir, there is one thing.”

The principal looked up from the report he had gone back to writing, “And that would be?”

“Can you please not talk about this to Treville or Athos, sir? I don’t want them to worry.”

Charles du Lac took off his glasses and leaned back in his chair, motioning for the boy to come closer and have a seat. “You’re looking like you haven’t had a decent night’s sleep for a month, your grades are falling and you are antagonizing teachers, and you want me to keep all this from your guardian?” He did not miss the small wince that flashed across d’Artagnan’s face at the last word. “Son, I would think Treville and Athos would want to know, especially Athos.”

D’Artagnan shook his head. “He has a lot on his plate, sir. He doesn’t need to worry about this too. I promise I’ll make up for the grades. I’ll put in extra classes if that’s necessary. Just… leave him out of it?”

The principal narrowed his eyes at the insistent tone. “Is everything alright with you and Athos? I know he’s not really your uncle, and if there’s a problem of any kind, I can talk to Treville. You can trust him, I’ve known him for a long time.”

D’Artagnan looked aghast. “No, it’s nothing like that! Athos has been nothing but incredible and even now, with all this mess with…” he went silent quickly, realizing he had said too much while trying to defend Athos.

“The mess with what, d’Artagnan?” Mr du Lac’s gentle but authoritative question informed d’Artagnan that there was no getting out of this interrogation without giving the man some answers.

“My uncle Henri made an appearance on Friday, threatened Athos to take him to court over my custodial rights. I’ve been living with Treville since, while Athos and the others have been trying to make the case against Henri,” d’Artagnan explained in one breath, feeling a large weight lift off his shoulders. It felt strangely freeing to get that off his chest. Saying it out loud condensed the matter into a few words, instead of the panicked ramblings going on in his head. He let go of his fists, realizing he had been clenching them tightly and took a deep breath. “All three of them have enough problems because of me right now, they really don’t have time to deal with this too.”

Mr. du Lac had to take a moment to compose himself at the onslaught of information. He had expected d’Artagnan’s background to be different from the traditional story from what little Treville had told him when asking him to take a student in the middle of the semester, but he had had no idea it was this bad. The kid was obviously scared of this Uncle Henri who was threatening to take him back.

“Son, even before I had met Athos a few days ago, I had known of him and not just because I’m friends with Treville. He’s among the city’s finest lawyers, ever since he’s joined Treville’s office, their ratio of cases won has escalated rapidly and it is still on the rise. He’s noble and honest with rock solid principles and he obviously cares about you. You have been told this before, so I don’t know how much of a difference it would make if it comes from me, but there’s no way that he’s going to let you go anywhere near your uncle.”

It was hard to decide who was more surprised by the principal’s words, d’Artagnan who sat in quiet contemplative silence, or Charles du Lac himself. Sure the boy’s story sucked and no kid should be under that much pressure, but _where had all that come from?_ Even now as he watched the boy trying to subtly blink away tears, he felt an inane urge to comfort him.

D’Artagnan looked at the man behind the table and he didn’t look so intimidating all of a sudden. “Thank you sir. Your opinion of Athos is spot on.”

Mr du Lac smiled. “I give praise where it is deserved,” he said, before pausing to think. “Fine, I won’t call up Athos. But I advise you to talk to him yourself, no one can quell your doubts better than him.”

D’Artagnan nodded. “Thank you for understanding sir. Like I said, I would make up for my grades, I promise.”

Mr. du Lac simply nodded and d’Artagnan took his silence as his cue to leave.

He was surprised yet again when the principal’s secretary Philip, informed him that there was no detention slip waiting for him. He didn’t question his luck any further though, and hurried towards the cafeteria to grab a bite before History.

XXX

“He’s lying,” Porthos declared to the room. Aramis, Porthos and Alex were all standing at the one way window looking in on Henri’s interrogation.

“You want anything from me, you get Athos from the DA’s office into this room. I’ve things to tell you that would make your head spin, but I’ll only talk to him,” Henri’s voice filtered through the speakers set in the adjacent room. Inside, Mark was visibly losing his calm, the man had been repeating the same thing for the past one and half hour since the interrogation had started.

They would have called Athos and let him have a go at Henri. Both Aramis and Porthos knew the lawyer was wound up enough because of d’Artagnan’s disgusting uncle and was itching to get his hands on him. But he was busy, and Aramis was definitely not going to call him in the middle of _that_ appointment. Not unless he wanted to be murdered, that is.

At one point Aramis had talked Alex into letting one of them into the room, but that hadn’t worked either. Henri had just smiled smarmily at Aramis and told him to get ‘his buddy’ to pay him a visit.

Aramis shot Porthos a look, “Really? What makes you say that?”

Porthos shrugged, unable to explain his gut feeling that Henri was simply stalling and there was something a lot sinister that he was trying to get their attention away from. “I’m an excellent judge of character,” he settled on finally.

Aramis snorted and Porthos looked at him in surprise. Aramis stared back, skeptical. “You’re a _terrible_ judge of character!” he pointed out, sharing a grin with Alex. “Especially when you’re sober.”

Porthos rose an eyebrow at his boyfriend and crossed his arms. “Really? Hmm, let me see,” he pretended to think for a second before grinning triumphantly, “How about August of 2000?”

“Hey! We agreed to never bring that up!” Aramis scowled, punching his boyfriend lightly on the arm. “How was I to know that that woman was crazy?!”

“Guys,” Alex tried to intervene, taking a sip of his coffee. He could feel a headache coming on and he did not need the couple’s bickering to turn into a full blown argument. But the look on Porthos’ face told him the duo wasn’t done yet.

“You cheated on her by sleeping with her fiancé!”

“You did what?!” Alex spluttered, spitting out his coffee. He turned to Aramis, incredulous.

“Oh yeah, Aramis here found out that the girl he had been seeing all summer; _despite_ my explicit advice to stay away from her; was engaged, and the only way he could think to break it off; _despite_ my explicit advice to not do so; was to get caught cheating on her. With her _fiancé_ , in her _house_!” Porthos explained for Alex’s benefit, his tone much too gleeful.

Aramis looked ready to murder his boyfriend and cause the detective to have another case on his hands. “It wasn’t so simple! I didn’t want their engagement to break, and I thought that if I slept with the fiancé too then he would be more willing to overlook his girlfriend’s infidelity and they wouldn’t call off the wedding. I was just trying to preserve their relationship!”

Alex looked at the indignant lawyer in disbelief before turning to Porthos, “So you thought…? God!” He burst out laughing. “What happened then?”

Porthos shook his head. “His master plan, surprisingly, did not work. Not only was the wedding called off, but all three of us had to leave the country for a while. Both the girl’s and the guy’s families were pretty important people, with connections, along with being extremely furious with Aramis and we thought it best to lay low until the heat blew off.”

Alex dissolved into laughter again and Porthos seemed all too pleased with himself. Aramis kicked the detective, when he didn’t stop laughing for an entire minute. “Get over it, it’s not that funny,” he scowled.

“Oh it’s pretty funny love,” Porthos said, grinning from ear to ear.

Aramis narrowed his eyes at the bigger man. “Wait till you get home, I’m going to make you pay for this. I’m going to…”

Alex raised up his hands, still trying to get his breath back. “Hey, hey, stop. No details, please.”

“Then stop being an immature ass,” Aramis shot back.

“Okay, okay,” Alex said, raising his hands in surrender, his face apologetic for a second before it broke out in a grin again. “But you are officially banned from giving relationship advice to anyone, _ever_.”

Aramis simply rolled his eyes, turning his attention back to the man in the interrogation room. He was silent for a minute. “You know, come to think of it, I think he’s hiding something too.”

Porthos sobered up and looked back at the man being interrogated. He wasn’t above murmuring a childish ‘called it’, and sharing a thumbs up with Alex though.

XXX

Athos was in the seventh circle of hell right now.

He could have been helping Porthos and Aramis interrogate Henri, he could have been working on getting the court date moved up now that he knew Paul wasn’t an option, hell he could have been doing absolutely nothing and that would still have been a better usage of his time than sitting in the too pristine and too orange waiting room.

He fucking hated psychiatrists.

His life had gone to hell several times over in the last few years but the only kind of therapy that Athos had ever responded to had been found at the bottom of his wine glass. Even the mandatory psychiatric checkup on returning back from active duty had been more on paper than anything else: Athos using a little bit of influence and a lot of intimidation to get the newbie shrink assigned to him to sign him off without so much as one face to face conversation. He wasn’t proud of that, but it had been necessary. He would have rather gone back to the battlefield than lay down on a couch and talk about how he still had nightmares about the one mission that his team had messed up and how they had almost been done for, stranded in the middle of the desert with all communication from HQ cut off and a nasty bullet lodged in Porthos’ back.

And back then he didn’t even have anything that he felt particularly inclined to not share. Things were different now. This psychiatric evaluation came with a lot higher stakes than it had ever before: it was for d’Artagnan’s adoption process, that, on Treville’s’ suggestion he had simultaneously started so that as soon as the case was over he could step in as the official legal guardian for the teenager. He couldn’t afford to fuck it up.

As soon as Athos entered the psychiatrist’s office he knew he would fuck it up.

She was _lovely_.

Athos was used to mingling with the elite class of Paris and he was no stranger to drop dead gorgeous women. He was actually almost immune to their charms, to the point that most of the single ladies had given up on catching his eye. But the woman sitting behind the desk in the office was another matter entirely. There was a different, almost ethereal kind of beauty in the way her light blonde hair were tousled in a bun at the back of her head with stray strands framing her face, or in the perfect curve of her nose or the lovely green eyes that seemed to have an entire language of their own in the way they twinkled and shone.

Athos was immune, he wasn’t however invincible.

With a start he realized that he had been standing at the door, staring, quite rudely at the lady and he hastily collected himself and made his way inside, extremely aware of the raised eyebrow that he was receiving. However she was either extremely professional or probably accustomed to getting such looks because she did not miss a beat and got up to shake his hand before gesturing towards one of the sofas around a low coffee table.

“Mr. de la Fère, please have a seat,” she said, in a voice like cultured honey and Athos felt himself being drawn to the almost sing song way she took his name. _Mr. de la Fère_ , he wanted to hear her say it again and again.

“Please, call me Athos,” he said, sitting down priding himself on sounding as detached and professional as ever. One thought of d’Artagnan’s frightened face when he had seen Henri standing near Athos’ front gate had him sobering up in an instance.

“Alright, Athos, I’m Ninon de Larroque and it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” She took a seat herself, placing a file on the coffee table without glancing at it. “I’m going to come out and admit that your case is a strange one. We don’t really get that many thirty year old single lawyers looking to adopt a fifteen year old teenager. Frankly, in such a situation I’m trained to look for skeletons in the closet. So tell me Athos, is there anything I should worry about?”

Athos tilted his head at her, thankful for the straight talk. At least she wasn’t trying any of the usual shrink bullshit of covering up everything in innocent subtle questions which actually had double and triple meanings. “I’m an ex-soldier, ma’am. My past is full of skeletons, but no, to answer your question, there’s nothing that would cause trouble now.”

“Not even the events leading to your wife’s death?”

The question had Athos straightening up, his eyes narrowed. “That’s classified information.”

Dr. de Larroque nodded. “Classified information which, as the state appointed psychiatrist evaluating your case, I’m privy to. You didn’t answer the question.”

Athos glared at her, the thought of d’Artagnan away from home being the only thing stopping him from walking out then and there. “My wife murdered my brother because he found out that she was an imposter and a known murderess. I had her convicted and sent to prison and she met her end there,” he managed to grit out. “Like I said, there’s _nothing_ from the past that would cause trouble now.”

The psychiatrist did not look convinced. “Following the news of your wife’s death you did not seek therapy. With such traumatic events in your life, surely some help wouldn’t have hurt?”

“I had help.” Athos sat back, forcing himself to relax. Appearing angry and on edge would do him no favors. “I had my friends to help me through and they did. Besides I’m an ex-soldier. Death and loss are not new things.”

“Yes, you keep mentioning that. You are an ex-soldier, and so are your friends. I have their psychiatric reports here, back from when they were discharged. Yours is a little generic, so I’ll read theirs’ out.” She opened the file and took out a paper. “Aramis d’Herblay: suffers from severe post-traumatic stress disorder with difficulty sleeping and recurring, often violent nightmares.”

Athos kept his face impassive even as his stomach churned at the memory of how Aramis had been when they had gotten back. “That information is confidential as well.” Dr. de Larroque rose an eyebrow and he knew he didn’t have an argument. With Aramis and Porthos living in the same house that d’Artagnan would be living in, of course all of them would be put under the microscope. Despite the seriousness of the situation, Athos felt a tiny bit of delight at the thought of the two also facing Dr. de Larroque’s interrogation. Aramis specially had been a little too gleeful at the prospect of Athos having to go to a psych eval.

“Aramis was the sole survivor of a mission gone horribly wrong. He had been wounded and unable to help and he had witnessed a lot of his comrades die. To top it off when they got him out of that hell hole, they put him under investigation. So yes, he does suffers from PTSD and gets nightmares, but it’s nothing that between Porthos and me, we can’t handle ourselves.” He took a deep breath and looked the lady in the eye. “Dr. de Larroque, d’Artagnan has been living with us for five months now and in that time the only time Aramis had nightmares that kept Porthos awake the whole night was the night d’Art left to stay at the DA’s home. The kid himself is healing from the horrible things he has seen in the last few years, but he has helped all of us get over our demons too. So if you think that Aramis having PTSD, and before you get to it, my excessive drinking in the past, would be a problem for d’Art, I would advise you to think again. He’s a bright, smart and utterly amazing kid and the last few months have been the happiest anyone has been in the house.”

Ninon rose an eyebrow, surprised. “You really do care about the boy.”

Athos spread his arms. “I wouldn’t be sitting here if I didn’t.”

She smiled, “No, I suppose you wouldn’t. You’re not a big fan of therapy I take it.”

“This is the longest conversation I have had with a psychiatrist,” Athos admitted, with a smile of his own. The doctor seemed to have gotten the point: no matter what she thought, there was no way she or any one else who could stop him from getting d’Art back home. That and when she smiled, she didn’t look so stern and intimidating anymore. In fact, she looked downright exquisite.

“Well, Mr. Athos, I’m afraid you’ll have to subject yourself to another one. And this time I want to talk to d’Artagnan as well.” She closed the file, and put it back on the table. “And I know it doesn’t seem to do the trick for you, but maybe d’Artagnan could benefit from some professional help. From what I’ve read of his past, getting over it might not be so easy for a fifteen year old.”

Athos looked at her thoughtfully. He hadn’t thought about that. He made a mental note to talk to d’Artagnan about it once their joint meeting with Dr. de Larroque was over with. “I would think about it ma’am, thank you for bringing that to my attention.”

The doctor was stopped from replying by a buzz from Athos’ phone. She frowned at him, but he pulled it out and immediately answered it after a glance at the caller ID. “D’Art, is everything alright?”

“Athos.” The teenager’s voice was so full of unadulterated fear that Athos felt his heart stop for a second. “Athos, I need help.”

Athos was up and out of the door in a less than a second.

 

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't come to me with pitchforks for the cliffhanger, the next chapter won't take so long. I think.   
> I would love it if you could drop by an leave a comment. :)


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The research for this chapter included back to back viewings of Taken. So it's no wonder that the chapter ended up being homage to badass!Liam Neeson in protevtive daddy mode.   
> Disclaimer: I own neither Taken nor Musketeers.

Athos gripped the phone tight, walking rapidly towards the emergency staircase. He did not want to risk losing the call to a weak signal. "D'Art, talk to me. What's wrong?"

D'Artagnan's voice, when it came, was a whisper; but Athos could make out the underlying fear. "Athos. There's a car following me. I was walking to the bus stop, and I noticed it just now. It was at the school too."

Athos drew in a sharp breath, leaping down half a flight of stairs before rushing through the next one. He was six floors up on the other side of the city and d'Artagnan was scared. "D'Art, are you sure that isn't a coincidence?"

"I recognized one of the men, Athos, from my old life. He went by Marko and the boys knew to keep out of his way. He was a thug for hire," d'Artagnan said. "There's no way this is a coincidence. God, Henri must have sent people! He did it before too…"

"Alright. Alright, d'Artagnan. I need you to focus alright? What did you notice about the car? Make, model, number plate, anything at all that you remember," Athos instructed, trying to get the teenager to stop freaking out.

"I… It's black, or navy blue. An SUV, with one of those tree refresher things hanging from the rear view mirror," d'Artagnan's breath quickened. "Shit, I don't remember the number plate."

Athos felt a cold fist clench his heart painfully as he struggled to keep his voice calm. He needed the teenager to not panic. He needed _himself_ to not panic. "Hey, you're doing good. How many men did you see in the car?"

"Three were in it, and one was leaning against it when it was parked at the school. There could be more, but I didn't see them near the car."

"Okay. Is there any place crowded nearby?"

"No. The entire road has cafes lining it and most of them are either closed or empty."

Athos reached the ground floor and ran out of the building. He came to a stop outside.

There was no way he was going to make it in time. Aramis and Porthos were at the police station, again too far away to reach anywhere near d'Art. Treville was at court. He took a deep breath. "D'Artagnan, the next part is important." He closed his eyes. "They are going to take you."

The frightened gasp which filtered over the phone stabbed right through Athos' heart. "But we're going to get you back, that's a promise alright?" There was no reply and Athos could hear the teenager's hasty breathing. "Do you trust me d'Art?"

"Yes." The single word, spoken without a second's hesitation brought tears to Athos' eyes.

"Then know this: I'm going to get you back, no matter what, okay?"

"Athos, I'm scared…"

"I know, son. I am too," Athos said, his voice almost faltering. "But they are coming after you so they can ransom you in exchange for letting Henri walk. They're not going to harm you. And I'm going to get you back in a few hours, alright?"

There was no reply for a second and Athos felt his heart stop, thinking that they had gotten to him already. "Alright," d'Artagnan's voice came a second later, however, and Athos was glad that it was a lot more confident than it had been a second ago.

Athos nodded, though he knew the kid couldn't see him, satisfied that the point had gotten across. "Now, you have to hang up, and keep the phone switched on. When they corner you, don't fight. You'll get hurt or they'll knock you out. When they put you in the van, toss the phone someplace they won't be able to see. Can you do that?"

"Yes," d'Artagnan whispered. "Athos, I…"

"I know, son. I know." Athos cleared his throat. "I'll be seeing you soon."

For a petrified second after the teenager hung up, Athos stood completely still, allowing himself to fully feel the panic so that he could stow it away and focus. One after the other, unbidden and unwanted images of the kid's face; bloody and bruised, his body limp and lifeless, his eyes staring at him accusingly; flashed through his mind and his knees almost buckled.

Taking a deep breath, he steadied himself and hit speed dial two. "Porthos," he greeted the man when he answered. "Is Henri still in custody?"

"Yeah," Porthos replied. "Why? What happened?" he asked, sensing the urgency in Athos' tone.

"I'm coming over. I'll fill you in when I get there."

XXX

"Ah, Athos! I was hoping we could meet again," Henri started to say before Athos grabbed him by the lapels of his shirt and slammed him into the wall. Beside him, Alex jumped up in surprise.

"You bastard," Athos growled through clenched teeth. "You're going to tell me where d'Artagnan is or I'm going to make you regret the day you decided to show your ugly face in France and ruined his life."

Alex grabbed Athos, an arm on his shoulder, and tried to pull him off Henri, as Porthos, Aramis and Mark burst into the room.

"Athos, what the hell?"

Henri smiled at the lawyer, a satisfied, sick smile which caused Athos' stomach to turn. "Yes Athos. What the hell? I have no idea what you're talking about. I've been having a lovely conversation with your friends here all morning."

Athos glared at the man, but spoke to the others. "I got a call from d'Artagnan. Someone took him from school." He tightened his grip on Henri, almost choking the man. "I'm going to get him back, and when I get my hands on the thugs who took him, I'll make them squeal who was behind this. And when I find out it's you, you slimy piece of shit, I'm going to come after you. There's not going to be any charge that I'm not going to nail you with. You know, even the scumbags in prison don't take too kindly to assholes who go after children. You are not going to last a week."

A tiny bit of Athos was satisfied by the pale look of fear that flashed on Henri's face, but he was stopped from saying anything else by Aramis arriving at his side. "Athos, let him go. We have work to do."

Athos slammed the man into the wall one last time, before abruptly letting go off his shirt and stepping back. He nodded at Aramis and turned away. Behind him Henri straightened. "Well, it seems I'll be pressing some assault charges of my own." Athos spun around and punched the man in the face.

A distinct, satisfying crunch was heard throughout the room. Henri doubled over, howling in pain while clutching his nose. "No, you won't," Athos replied.

XXX

Watching Athos bark orders with the singularity of mind that had been so famous in Afghanistan and had gotten them out of many a crisis, Mark thanked God, not for the first time, that he wasn't on Athos' bad side. It wasn't a very nice place to be, as had been proven by the sobbing wreck of a man who had been carried away in handcuffs. Out of nowhere, Athos had arranged for Henri's arrest warrant to be extended. Mark didn't think the man had even gotten a chance to make a detour to the infirmary: Athos had had a word with the uniformed police officers who had led the man away.

"Aramis, see if d'Art's phone is giving off a GPS signal and track it; Porthos, I want you to find out everything you can about a thug for hire named Marko. D'Artagnan said he recognized one of the men, and Alex," Athos shot off instructions before turning to the detective. "I want you to get it cleared from whoever you have to: Aramis, Porthos and I are working the case. The only detectives I'll trust on this are you two," he said, indicating towards Mark and Alex.

Alex looked, for a second, like he was about to argue. He took one look at the lawyer's face and decided to keep whatever it was to himself and nodded before making his way out. Athos ran a hand through his hair before going to stand over Aramis' shoulder as the latter tried to track d'Artagnan's phone. He needed to stay there in case another call came or something else happened.

"Athos." He turned to find Treville walking into the office.

"Sir," Athos greeted, aware that Aramis had filled in the older man about the situation.

Treville walked over and laid a hand on Athos' shoulder, "We'll find him, son."

Athos was silent for a minute, his head bowed, trying to blink away the tears that were threatening to fall. He nodded abruptly, looking at his mentor. "Yes we will, we're going to get him back."

Treville smiled softly. "I've complete faith that you will, and so does d'Artagnan."

Aramis gestured excitedly from where he was working at the laptop. "Guys, I have something!"

The three of them walked over hurriedly. "That's d'Artagnan's phone. That's where the car is, if it is still in it," Aramis told them. A red blinking dot indicated the location, and all their hopes of tracking the missing teenager went down the drain.

Mark sighed and voiced what all of them had immediately realized. "That is one of the busiest boulevards in Central Paris, lined with famous restaurants and boutiques. There is no way they are holding d'Artagnan there; they must have found the phone and tossed it."

"Dammit!" Athos snarled, clenching his fists as he abruptly turned away. Mark jumped slightly, startled. In all the years Mark had known him, Athos had _never_ lost his cool. Athos ran a hand through his hair and fell into a chair, his shoulders slumping in defeat. When his eyes rose to meet theirs, Mark felt his world tilt.

This was not the man who had went against orders from HQ when he had been told to wait for backup when on a mission to rescue Mark and Alex and a couple of other new recruits who had gotten themselves trapped in a hot enemy zone. That man, along with his two constant companions, had pretended to lose contact with headquarters, flew a helicopter under heavy fire and had literally carried Mark to the helicopter when he had been unable to run due to a huge shrapnel piercing his leg. He had gotten a reprimand on his record for the entire thing from their stickler of a CO, but it had brought him Mark's, and Alex's, loyalty for life.

Now, as he watched Athos, defeat and hopelessness shadowing his bright eyes which brimmed with tears, Mark felt an irrational desire to turn away and keep the picture of the infallible mentor he had in his head alive. He thought for a second, though, of what he would do if someone dared to harm his wife or newborn daughter and his heart ached for his friend. There was no hell worse than knowing that you cannot help the one person you would lay down your life for.

Aramis got up, and Mark sent another prayer of thanks to the heavens. He wouldn't have known where to begin to comfort the man; he didn't even know who this d'Artagnan was, and what exactly his relationship to Athos and the others was. Aramis took a deep breath, visibly preparing himself, "Okay, Porthos and I are going to hit the streets to look for this Marko character. He's our only lead now. Mark, you check out the GPS location regardless, and sir…?" he trailed off, looking at Treville.

Treville nodded answering the silent question. "You guys carry on. Report in at every two hours," he said, giving Aramis a look which clearly added 'I'll handle things here.' Aramis nodded and after a brief glance exchanged with his partner, the two of them left.

Treville walked over to where Mark had been standing leaning against the glass wall of the conference hall and the ex-soldier immediately snapped to attention, before he could stop himself. Treville smiled slightly but did not comment. Instead he whispered, "Is there any chance there's a liquor cabinet hidden somewhere around here? Athos could use a drink."

Mark blinked as the unexpected question filtered through his brain. He glanced over Treville's shoulder at Athos, who had let his head fall into his arms and nodded. "Oh yeah. The HOD doesn't know about this, but we do keep a modest collection for especially bad days. I'll go get something."

Treville gave him a short precise nod which Mark took as his cue to leave. The last thing he saw was Treville sitting down in the chair besides Athos, and placing a gentle comforting hand on the younger man's shoulder. Mark turned away, not wanting to intrude on something so obviously private.

XXX

There were somethings that didn't go away with time and as Porthos regained consciousness to two men dragging him somewhere with a bag over his head, a small part of his brain was reverted back almost two decades ago, when feeling scared and small was an everyday occurrence. He calmed himself down, reminding himself that he was ex-special forces and it would take a lot more than two thugs in worn out shoes to do him any serious harm. He could also make out the feel of his army knife under his right pant leg. He had strapped a large one over the other leg so that they would take that and not bother looking for another one.

Idiots.

The bag smelled terrible and Porthos attempted to breathe through his mouth while trying to not appear to be awake as he was led up a lot of stairs and dumped on the ground. His attackers took a nervous step back when he did not crash to the floor as they had expected when shoved forwards, but instead landed on his knees. He did not, however, try to get up. The bag was wrenched away from his head and his eyes took a second to adjust to the dimly lit interior. It was an old abandoned church, and in place of an altar was a large chair, shaped almost like a crude throne.

"I distinctly remember telling you that if you walked through these streets again, I'll put a bullet in your head." The man lounging on the throne uncrossed his legs and leaned forwards. There was a new gash on one side of his face but other than that, Charon looked exactly how he had three years ago.

Porthos nodded in greeting. "And I remember not putting a bullet through yours when I very well should have."

Charon growled, "You tried your level best didn't you? You and that little lapdog of yours."

Despite his situation, that got a chuckle from Porthos. "Oh, had we been really trying, you would have been quite definitely dead."

Charon stood up in a smooth motion, like a cat, and two men stepped forwards to haul Porthos to his feet. In a flash, Porthos had his hands freed from the handcuffs. Still on his knees, he jammed his elbows into one man's sides, puncturing both his kidneys in a single move. The man went down like a pile of bricks.

Porthos spun, his long legs swiping the other man's from under him, and followed by crashing an elbow into his skull. That was enough to knock him out cold too. He got up, dusting his knees and smiled at Charon, tossing away the keys to the handcuffs he had picked off one of the men, while pretending to be unconscious.

Charon smiled back, calm as ever. "Still up to your old tricks I see." He gestured and after a beat, looked around the room, a flicker of surprise on his face.

"Your remaining lackeys are either dead or unconscious, depending on how much they pissed off my 'little lapdog.'"

A loud whistle sounded from somewhere above ground behind Porthos and he waved a hand in reply without taking his eyes away from Charon. A minute later, a red dot appeared on Charon's forehead causing the man to freeze.

Porthos grinned. "See, he doesn't _really_ need to use the scope, but he's so excited about getting to use his gun after so long that he can't help but show off." He shrugged, as if at a loss for words. "That's the problem with him you know, he's excitable. He might accidentally pull the trigger, but then he's not going to be happy about blood being shed in the Lord's house later, so I would prefer that he doesn't have to."

Charon forced himself to appear relaxed, turning and sitting back on the chair behind him. The red dot did not waver from his head for even a second. "So you've decided to finish what you started three years ago, after all."

Porthos growled, suddenly angry. He walked over to the seated man and grabbed him by the collar. "Three years ago we saved your life you ungrateful asshole. Aramis _should_ have killed you. You were going to happily blow up half of Paris!"

"Then maybe he should have!" Charon yelled suddenly, all traces of the collected calm façade vanishing from his face. "You want gratitude for saving my life? You took away my only chance of getting away from this hell hole!"

"Would you rather you were in prison? Or _dead_?" Porthos snarled back, "because I can arrange for both those things to happen, you know."

The men stared at each other, both fuming angrily before Porthos let go with a disgusted scowl.

"So what _do_ you want then, if you're not here to kill me?" Charon asked after several minutes of tense silence.

"I'm looking for a man named Marko."

Charon looked as if he was trying to remember. "Marko, hmm, don't know who you're-" he was cut off as a bullet lodged itself into the chair two centimeters away from his head.

"What the fuck?!" he screamed shrilly, cowering in his chair.

"I told you he was excitable," Porthos said, mentally swearing. As always, his boyfriend's skill as a sniper never failed to impress, but that really had been too close. "Now, what were you saying about Marko?"

"Huge guy with a tattoo over the right side of his face. Specializes in snatch and grabs," Charon spat out, straightening again on the chair.

Porthos waved a hand dismissively. "I don't want to know what he looks like. He has taken a contract he shouldn't have and I need to put a bullet in him. Just tell me where I can find him."

"There's an abandoned textile warehouse on the east side. It's near a river. That's all I know, from what I've heard."

Porthos nodded. "A contract was taken out by a man named Henri probably a couple of days ago. We need you to cancel it."

"What makes you think, that even if I wanted to, I can cancel a contract?" the man asked, obviously relaxing now that he knew Porthos needed him to do something. The threat of Aramis and his gun didn't seem to scare him anymore.

Porthos had to restrain himself from strangling the man in front of him. "If any more people come after d'Artagnan when we are done getting him back, you will be paid a visit by Athos. He doesn't fool around. He puts people like you down, without batting an eye. So you better figure out a way to cancel that goddamn contract, you understand?"

Charon looked confused for a second before disbelief flashed across his face. "D'Artagnan! I knew that name sounded familiar! What's the little shank gotten himself into now?"

Porthos stilled. There was no way in hell one of Paris' most dangerous crime lords knew d'Artagnan. The kid had not been part of any gang, he had made sure to ask in case there was anyone looking to get him back. He would have told him if he had been one of Charon's boys. The man ran one of the biggest crack cocaine gangs in Paris, there was no way he would have let him leave.

He shook his head and glared at the man. "You know of him?"

Charon laughed. "Oh, I don't know of him, I know him. Smart kid, had a mouth on him which got him into trouble but he was as sharp as a knife, picking up things at a rapid pace. The boys called him Little Shank, though he never did seem to like the name." He nodded his head as if just realizing something. "So he got out huh?"

Porthos had no idea how much of what Charon had told him was true. The man could be playing with Porthos' head, pretending to know d'Art so he could throw him off; or he could be telling the truth. Either way Porthos had already let slip d'Artagnan's name and his connection to him and now there was nothing to be done about it. "He's in trouble with his uncle."

"And you're such a bleeding heart, you've taken in a stray. What, he reminds you of yourself? Well, let me tell you, he's nothing like you. The boy doesn't have the spine to do half the things you and I had done together when we were a few years younger than him," Charon said, his tone reminiscent. Porthos simply grunted. "Tell you what, I'll cancel the contract because I like the kid. And because, then," he paused, getting up and pointing a finger at Porthos, his eyes narrowed "this will make us even."

Porthos stared back at his old friend, not intimidated in the slightest. "So we're back to threatening to kill each other if we see the other?"

Charon grinned, though it was without menace. "Oh yeah, only this time there will be no lingering memories of past days stopping me from giving the order to slit your throat."

Porthos smiled back. "Seems fair."

Maybe the old Charon, the one who had shared half his food with Porthos when the latter had not eaten for days, the one who had had his back when he had been in fights; maybe he wasn't as completely lost as Porthos had feared.

XXX

"Ow! What was that for?" Porthos grumbled, rubbing the back of his head as he lifted Aramis' huge case with one arm and stowed it into the car easily.

Aramis glared at his boyfriend. "You put me up in the rafters, _where there are spiders mind you_ , and you tell me 'Love, you can have my back with that gun of yours.' Then you keep getting in my line of sight!" Porthos got another punch, this time on his arm. "You know I can't help you if you're close to my target!" Porthos grinned. "You were jealous, weren't you?"

Aramis narrowed his eyes and Porthos ducked, just in time to miss the fist aimed for his nose. "If I had been jealous for even a second, I would have put a bullet in that asshole's head. Lord knows why I didn't, actually."

"So you _were_ jealous!" Porthos exclaimed, turning to his boyfriend in disbelief as they got into the car.

Aramis looked away, not sure of how to answer. Was he jealous of the man who had been there for Porthos when he had had no one at all? Probably. He and Porthos had shared the cold nights and hungry days that the man still sometimes had nightmares about. And although he knew that Charon had done enough evil to deserve a bullet in his skull, Aramis knew he would never pull the trigger to take that shot, no matter how much he wanted to. Aramis owed Charon too much to do that.

Porthos suddenly felt like a jerk for pressing the issue. Aramis was probably already on edge from memories of Porthos' close encounter three years ago when Charon had tried to kill him for foiling his plans and Aramis had had to shoot him down; and he was only making it worse.

"I'm sorry for worrying you love. Won't happen again," Porthos said quietly, his one apologetic.

Aramis sighed. "Yes it will," he said, his voice uncharacteristically subdued. "There's no universe where I stop worrying about you, but you can always try not compounding it in such situations by being a reckless ass, alright?" He managed a smile at the bigger man.

"Alright, no promises, but I'll try to keep that in mind."

Aramis nodded and was silent for a few minutes before turning to Porthos. "Are you going to tell Athos?"

"About what Charon said about d'Art?" Porthos asked, giving the matter some thought. "No, not until I've had a talk with the kid myself. Athos will definitely freak out, and it might be a complete lie."

Aramis nodded, before gesturing for Porthos to start driving. "We need to get back. Athos must be furious, it's been almost three hours and I haven't called in."

XXX

"Dammit Porthos, there isn't _a_ warehouse on the east side beside the river, the entire district is full of them! You couldn't have gotten a more vague description if you had tried!" Athos growled, taking one look at the large area Mark had circled on the map.

"And how was _I_ supposed to know that?" Porthos shot back.

Aramis got off the computer and, taking the pen from Mark, circled three of the warehouses in the district. They were all spaced quite a few miles apart. "Those are the ones that were textile warehouses before they were shut down."

Treville frowned. "It's still too big an area. We will need a larger team."

"No." Everyone turned to Athos, waiting for him to explain. "If there's police activity in the area and we hit the wrong warehouse first, Marko and his goons will get spooked. And we don't have enough men for a simultaneous assault on all of them." He looked at Treville.

"We're doing this by ourselves."

Alex started to interfere, but Treville beat him to it. "Working the case was one thing, Athos but the three of you cannot go in as an assault team into the field like that, especially unaided."

"Alex and Mark can come, if they have no objections," Athos conceded.

"You know we would follow you to hell and back Athos, but the DA is right," Alex tried to intervene. "The area is indeed too large and we could use a bigger team."

"We don't need a bigger team. I can't trust anyone else not to make some rookie mistake and jeopardize the entire mission," Athos explained, his tone softening at the earnest look on Alex's face.

Treville glared at Athos. "This is _not_ your mission. I can't have you going around, tearing down half of Paris-"

"Must I remind you this is _d'Artagnan_ you are talking about? I will tear down the _goddamn Eiffel Tower_ if I have to!" Athos shouted, cutting Treville off.

A shocked silence filled the room. _No one_ spoke to Treville like that. Athos glared at his mentor, breathing heavily for several minutes, before he seemed to deflate. His shoulders sagged and he sank into a chair, not meeting Treville's eyes.

The DA looked at his best lawyer and sighed. He turned around and was almost out of the door when Athos spoke. "Sir?"

Treville shook his head fondly, his anger dissipating. The stubborn ass would stick to his decision, but he wouldn't move forwards until he had Treville's go ahead. "You do what you have to do, son. I'm going to go make sure you don't land your ass in jail when you get back with the kid."

Athos nodded and smiled.

XXX

"Are you sure?" Porthos asked, surprised.

Aramis nodded. "Amy's great. But for this I'm not going to be needing her." Porthos shrugged as he put back Aramis' sniper case and closed the trunk of his Hummer just as Alex appeared behind Aramis, checking the back straps of his vest.

"Do you even know how to fight _without_ that ridiculous gun of yours anymore?"

"I can pin you down in three seconds," Aramis said, sharing a grin with Porthos. "And Amy's _not_ ridiculous," he added as an afterthought.

Alex, realizing he was much too close to Aramis for the lawyer to resist the temptation to demonstrate his point, deftly took a step back. "Hey. I believe you. Forget I said anything."

Mark watched the entire exchange, smiling at the familiarity of it all. All that was missing was the unrelenting heat of the desert, he thought, as he took in the sight of all four of them, all suited up in their gear. Alex was checking his semi-automatic while slipping extra rounds in his vest pockets and Aramis was tightening one of Porthos' back straps. Mark glanced around for Athos and saw the man emerge from inside the van, all ready to go. He stopped beside Mark and gestured for him to follow. The two men walked a short distance before Athos gestured for him to stop.

"I never did congratulate you," Athos said, smiling. "And I'm sorry for pulling you away from your family at such a time. You don't have to do this, you know."

Marko gave him an answering smile but shook his head. "Thanks, and yes Kelly _was_ quite pissed until I told her it was you who had sent in the request. You know, she still remembers the second honeymoon you arranged for us when I got back with fondness; and she immediately invited all you guys over once she's back on her feet; but there is no way in hell that you're going to make me sit this one out." He rose an eyebrow when Athos started to speak, letting the man know that he wasn't done yet. "I can see how much you care about d'Artagnan and what he means to you, and I can't wait to meet this kid myself. He must be quite something to have worked his way under _your_ skin."

Athos shook his head in exasperated fondness. "You don't listen, do you?"

"Nope. Learned it from the best."

Athos grew somber, giving Mark an earnest look, "Seriously though, congratulations. You'll make an incredible father."

Mark felt his heart fill up with pride and he beamed. "Thank you. That means a lot to me. Now, if you don't mind, let's go get your kid too."

Athos snorted, and the two of them returned back to the others. He looked around at all his friends, as Alex handed out the ear pieces and each of them reported in after tuning in to their usual frequency. He went last. "Musketeer 1 to all, reporting in. Gentlemen, let's bring d'Art home."

XXX

The first warehouse they checked was a dead end. Except a pigeon which had startled Aramis by insisting on landing in his hair, there had been nothing out of the ordinary.

The second warehouse however, was a whole different story.

Even as they neared, on foot, as Athos couldn't risk their van or Porthos' Hummer being spotted by a hidden lookout, they could make out the activity at the warehouse. There was a big black van parked near the gate, a man lounging against it. If he was a lookout, he was a pretty shitty one: he had his rifle slung around his left arm, using the right hand to light himself a match, which in the late evening darkness of the late evening was akin to lighting up a flare. Porthos did everyone a favor and took him out effortlessly. It was painful just watching him suck at his job with such determined vigor.

The four of them made their way towards the now unguarded front entrance. Athos signaled for Aramis and Porthos to circle the building and find another point of entry: they wanted to keep the element of surprise and take out as many as they could quietly.

Alex, Mark and Athos waited, crouched behind the van, for Aramis' signal. After several minutes, there was static on the radio and Aramis' voice filtered through. "Musketeer 2 to 1, we are in. There was an open side entrance. These guys are such amateurs, I almost feel bad for them."

Athos shook his head and Alex chuckled. "Musketeer 1 to 2, what is your position?"

Aramis suppressed a sigh at his captain's curt reply. He narrowed his eyes, letting them to adjust to the dim interior of the warehouse, and nodded as Porthos signaled that he was going forward. He made sure the safety was off on his Colt, before moving forwards himself. "There is one… no, two hostiles in my line of sight. I can…" he broke off, swearing under his breath in Spanish. He could just make out Porthos creeping towards one of the men. "Hold that thought."

He waited for Porthos to reach his target, while he aimed at the other man who was facing in the opposite direction from the first. He didn't need his sniper and its scope to make this shot. For anyone else it would have been difficult, with just a semi-automatic, but with Aramis' finger on the trigger, the man was a walking corpse. The second Porthos reached his target and grabbed him, Aramis fired at the other one. The man had had enough time only to slightly raise his rifle before he fell to the ground with a dull thud, echoed by another as Porthos knocked the other man out.

Porthos raised an arm in salute and Aramis flew him the bird. He could have used some forewarning. "Musketeer 2 to 1, your way in is clear. I'll get the door open in a few."

He aimed his gun at the lock holding the bolt in place and was about to shoot it off, when a hand on his shoulder made him stop. Porthos stepped up, shaking his head. Aramis glared at him but Porthos simply dropped to a knee in front of the gate, muttering under his breath about trigger happy fools. He took out a case from his vest and made quick work of the lock, grinning as he opened it with a barely audible click. Using a gun would have alerted the entire area of their presence.

Athos and the others came in, closing the door behind, and Porthos grinned at Aramis. "I'm not entirely useless to have around, you know," he commented cheekily, and quickly moved away before Aramis could think of a retort. It was just as well, for Aramis had no idea what he would have said: the sight of his boyfriend falling on one knee in front of him had done funny things to Aramis' brain. He shook his head, forcing himself to focus on the mission at hand.

The team made its way through the warehouse. There were huge containers stacked in tall, neat rows and progress was slow, as they had to check around every corner. There was only one thug wandering around amidst the containers and Alex took him out silently. As they neared the end of the large warehouse, they could make out light at a distance and started being even more careful. A few seconds later Porthos peaked around the corner and called out on the radio for everyone to stop.

"I have eyes on d'Art. There are six hostiles, all of them armed," Porthos reported into the radio. Athos, unable to see Porthos but knowing that he was a few rows to his right, nodded. He was nearest to the lit area but he risked a peek too. It wasn't that he didn't trust Porthos, he did; but he just _had_ to see for himself.

A few yards more and the rows of containers ended, leaving a small clearing right at the end of the warehouse. There was a square wooden table in the middle, with four men sitting around it. Three of them were playing at cards, but their fourth companion had dozed off, probably drunk judging from the number of empty beer cans around him. There was another man pacing around, trying to call someone on his mobile phone. From his build and the ugly tattoo on his face, Athos guessed that he was Marko. He kept failing to get a response and was cursing angrily in French mixed with a little broken English. Athos took note of all this before he saw d'Artagnan.

The kid was tied to a pole on the left side, a good eight feet away from the table. Most of him was concealed by shadows, though Athos could tell he was unconscious from the way his head was slumped forward with his long hair covering most of his face. Another man was standing near d'Artagnan, leaning against the wall, smoking a cigarette.

"I'm assuming you don't want shots fired?" Aramis asked.

"Not if you can help it. I'd prefer them alive," Athos replied, "They might start firing blindly and I don't want d'Artagnan to be caught in the crossfire." There was a pause, before Athos added, "Beside, I want to take my time with them."

Alex, standing at ready with gun poised in another row, shared a look with Aramis, "He's kidding right?" he whispered. Aramis simply shrugged.

"Right then, there are five of us and six of them," Mark said. "I take down Card Guy number 1, the one with the bandana."

"Card Guy Two is mine, that pink shirt is an _atrocity._ " Aramis's whispered voice over the radio carried enough disdain for Porthos to roll his eyes.

He checked again. "Phone guy, that's probably Marko going by Charon's description, he's mine. He's at least a good foot bigger than all of you."

Alex grinned at Aramis, the shortest in the group. For as long as he had known the three guys, it had been a sore point with the man. "Copy that, Card Guy Three is mine then," he said.

Athos smiled. All of them had left the guy nearest d'Artagnan for him.

"So Athos gets the Cool Smoker, and that leaves Mr. Sleeping Beauty," Mark said, "He's fair game. Let's see who gets two."

Porthos grinned, "You're on."

All of them waited for Athos' go ahead silently and Athos waited until the man nearest d'Artagnan, the Cool Smoker as Mark had dubbed him, had burnt out his cigarette. In the moment the man threw it to the ground and searched for another one, his gun forgotten; Athos gave the signal.

All of them shot forwards rapidly, emerging from the shadows from five different directions. Surprised yells were cut short as each reached his target.

Athos had made a beeline for the smoker, and he got to him just as the terrified man raised his rifle to shoot. He was holding it with one hand like the stupid amateur that he was, and Athos grabbed it and used it to spin the man around, twisting his arm at the elbow. The man yelped and flailed at Athos but the ex-soldier dodged easily, causing the idiot to lose balance.

He must have had some of those beers too. Athos took the chance and kicked at his shin. Hard.

The man crashed to the floor with another pained shriek which was abruptly cut off as Athos pointed the rifle straight at the man's face. The asshole began to snivel, whimpering pathetically. Athos sneered, disgusted; and knocked him out with the butt of the gun.

Not paying heed to the rest of the fight, he hurried towards d'Artagnan, falling to his knees in front of the teenager. Most of the kid's weight was held up by his hands which were tied to the pole above his head and Athos took out a knife from his boot. In seconds he was carefully lowering d'Artagnan's arms down, mindful of the rope burns. The skin had even broken in a few places and the cuts were oozing blood sluggishly. The kid must have been trying to get free.

The repositioning or the painful return of feeling into his numb arms must have woken the teenager up for he whimpered in pain. Athos cupped his cheek, lifting his face up gently. He had to bite back an angry curse as he took in the boy's appearance. Most of the left side of his face was bloody, a quick search locating the ugly cut on his temple as the cause. Other than that, he had a bruise forming around his right eye. "D'Artagnan, son? Can you hear me?"

A moment later, brown eyes cracked open, and Athos felt a weight lift from his chest when he was rewarded by a smile. A second later though d'Artagnan hissed out in pain and went completely still, clenching his eyes shut.

"Athos!" The anguished plea was a punch to Athos' gut. He watched helplessly as d'Artagnan tried his best not to move and aggravate the pins and needles in his arms. Tied like that with most of his upper body weight being held up by his hands must have made them completely numb and a minute passed before Athos risked a gentle touch. When d'Artagnan did not react in immediate pain, he started rubbing his hands down the boy's arms, trying to help the blood flow along. D'Artagnan seemed to relax slightly after a few moments, and opened his eyes, letting out a large breath.

"Better?" Athos whispered, and the teenager nodded.

"A little," d'Artagnan managed to say, though his posture was still rigid. "You came…"

Athos smiled at the boy. "Of course I did. I made a promise didn't I?"

D'Artagnan tried to return the smile, but winced in pain instead. "Athos, my head feels funny."

"It's bleeding like a bitch too," Athos murmured, carefully checking how deep the gash was.

D'Artagnan frowned. "No, it's not that, I…"

He was cut off by a loud yell. "Athos!"

XXX

Marko was either trained or over confident for he saw Porthos coming and instead of going for his gun like the others had, he crouched low and easily dodged Porthos' attempt to tackle him. The ex-soldier righted himself in an instant, raising his fists and waiting for the street thug to attack. He didn't have to wait long.

Marko let out an enraged snarl and a fist shot out aiming for Porthos' throat. In a heartbeat, Porthos had dropped to his knees, ramming his closed fist into the man's stomach. Marko doubled over, and Porthos grabbed his hair. He got up, wrenching the man's neck in the process but before he could smash his face into his knee, Marko spun around. Surprise loosened Porthos' grip; he had never seen a man recover from a punch to the gut so fast; and Marko broke free.

Porthos was only slightly out of breath, but Marko was taking huge heaves of air, while glaring murderously at Porthos. "Who the fuck sent you fuckers?" The ex-soldier shot the fuming thug a grin. "Your mom."

The man swore, rushing at Porthos carelessly in anger. Instead of side stepping the tackle, Porthos stopped it by slamming an arm into Marko's chest. His own momentum knocking the breath out of him, Marko wheezed and drops of blood flew from his mouth.

Porthos grabbed him by the collar and spun the huge man around, throwing him into the table a few feet away. Marko crashed into the table, causing a leg to break and the entire table to fall on top of him.

Satisfied, Porthos wiped his brow, expecting the man to stay down this time. The table crashing had finally woken up the slumbering idiot and it seemed that Porthos would indeed be winning the bet. A groan sounded from under the table, and a moment later, Marko dragged himself up.

Porthos stared at the man in impressed shock as, bleeding and out of breath, he raised his fists to fight, even as he wavered. He had to give it to him: this was one determined asshole.

Grinning Porthos rose his own hands in a 'come on' gesture and Marko rushed at him. Porthos side stepped, spinning around and waiting for him to come at him again. Marko swore and spat out blood before wiping his mouth. He charged again, but stopped just before he reached Porthos throwing out a punch aimed at his face. Porthos deflected easily, and grabbed him by the collar. He was about to smash his face in when he froze.

The man who had just gotten up was aiming his gun at the corner where Athos was helping d'Artagnan.

Porthos had time only to yell out before Marko punched him in the face.

XXX

Athos didn't think. He didn't turn around or reach for his gun. He grabbed d'Artagnan, shielding him with his body and closed his eyes, waiting for impact.

There was a loud _bang_.

Athos drew in a sharp breath, but did not feel any pain. He opened his eyes, first making sure that d'Artagnan wasn't bleeding from any bullet holes, and only then did he turn his head to see what had happened.

The man still had his gun raised, though he was no longer aiming it at Athos. Even as the latter watched, the gun slipped from his hands and touched a trembling hand to his chest, staring at it when it came away bloody. Blood was seeping through his shirt, spreading quickly and with one last look at Athos, the man crashed to the floor.

Several feet behind him, Alex lowered his gun giving Athos a thumbs up. Athos nodded in silent gratitude before returning his attentions to the teenager. The rest of the battle seemed to be over too. Mark finished his target with a knee to the groin and Porthos stood, breathing heavily with an unconscious Marko by his feet.

Aramis did not waste any time in getting to d'Artagnan. Athos seemed hesitant to let him come near the kid for a second, but then he nodded and Aramis knelt down. The boy had fallen unconscious.

"Did he wake up?" Aramis asked.

Athos nodded, and he had to try a few times before his voice returned. His mind was still reeling from the fact that someone had pointed a gun at d'Artagnan. "Yeah, he was talking. He said his head felt funny. Must be concussed."

Aramis hummed, checking the teenager's limbs for any breaks or abrasions. Apart from the chafed wrists, it seemed like it was only his face the assholes had worked out their anger on. He frowned, checking the kid's pulse. It was much too slow. Athos stiffened. Aramis opened one of d'Artagnan's eyelids and swore.

Athos tightened his grip on the teenager, and glanced at his friend with fear in his eyes.

Aramis shook his head. "Athos. He is not just concussed. He's drugged."

"What?" Athos whispered, fear lacing his voice. "With what?"

"I don't know, but his pulse is way too slow. Port!" Aramis called out, "Call for an ambulance."

Porthos tucked his phone back, rubbing his jaw where there was quite a bruise forming. "Already did. They are on their way along with backup." He came over after making sure Marko was secured tightly. The large man was still unconscious but Porthos had no doubt that he would be coming around soon. "Come on, let's get him out of here. We'll meet them out front."

He started to bend down and extricate d'Artagnan from Athos' arms but Athos shook his head. "I've got him, Port. You go ahead."

"You sure?" Athos nodded. "Alright then."

Porthos stood back. Athos carefully folded d'Artagnan's limbs, slipping his arms under him and lifted him up. He got to his feet with the teenager in his arms, his head nestled carefully against Athos' shoulder. "Let's go."

All of them followed as Athos carried d'Artagnan out of the warehouse.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew... longest chapter to date. You know it really matters to me if you take a minute and drop a word.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> D'Artagnan might be back home, but not everything is smooth sailing just yet.

 

“Stop staring, love. I’m fine,” Porthos murmured, his hand rubbing at the bruise rapidly forming on his jaw where Marko had managed to get him. Even on his dark skin, it was starting to show and Aramis wouldn’t stop glancing at it every few minutes from where he was perched on the counter. Porthos was trying to fix them both a cup of coffee and the stares were getting distracting.

“It’s not that,” Aramis murmured, his eyes still fixed on Porthos’ face. He licked his lips before continuing, “I’m just having a hard time convincing myself _not_ to jump you right now.”

Porthos put down the cup of coffee he was in the process of making and turned to Aramis, an eyebrow raised. “I didn’t’t know you had a bruise fetish.”

Aramis shrugged and looked at Porthos with a wicked glint in his eyes, “I have a _you_ fetish.”

Porthos grinned and walked over to his boyfriend, pulling him in in for a languid kiss, Aramis melting into it. Porthos let the other man take control; he was well accustomed to this. Aramis as always one to seek out physical comfort after bad days. Even back in Afghanistan when they weren’t together, Aramis would become even more tactile than usual after a particularly hard mission, finding Porthos and Athos and reassuring himself that they were alright through inconspicuous pats on the shoulder and brief hugs. It was his way of grounding himself, of reminding himself that everything was okay, that they had made it out and that they were alive.

And now what with having d’Artagnan get kidnapped and all of them launching a rescue mission with tensions running high, Porthos figured that it had been a _terrible_ day.

And it wasn’t over yet.

Aramis broke the kiss, but did not let go of Porthos, burrowing in his boyfriend’s chest instead. Porthos held him tightly, his eyes shut as he rested his chin on the smaller man’s head.

They were all at the hospital d’Artagnan had been rushed to by the ambulance. The kid had been drugged to within an inch of his life and, even five hours later, the doctors were unable to pinpoint exactly what those assholes had injected him with. Porthos was all too familiar with how street criminals like Marko liked to mix up their own variations of the usual drugs. More often than not, they also had horrible side effects.

Aramis snuggled against Porthos’ chest, his arms tucked around the larger man’s waist and his eyes closed. “Tell me he’s going to be okay,” he whispered.

Porthos carded gentle fingers through his boyfriend’s dirty hair, “He’s going to be okay.”

Aramis sighed and Porthos could hear the tears in his voice, “tell me again.”

“The kid’s stubbornness rivals that of Athos himself. He’s the strongest fifteen year old I know. He’s been through so much at such a young age and he bounces back every time. I don’t think there’s anything that will hold him down. _He_ _’_ _s going to be okay_.”

Aramis was quiet. Porthos sighed. He knew what his lover was thinking.

D’Artagnan _had_ to be okay. For their sake. For _Athos_ _’_ sake, if nothing else.

XXX

Dark. It was so very dark. D'Artagnan struggled to open his eyes, but his body refused to listen. There were voices too, sometimes muffled and far away, other times drilling holes in his head. He tried to move, to call out, but his limbs felt like as if they were being weighed down by something.

With great effort he wrenched his eyes open and gasped. White hot pain lanced through his head and he turned his head away, trying to get away from the blinding light. The voices grew louder, each of them an arrow to his head and he slumped back, welcoming the darkness.

Anything was better than the pain.

The relief didn’t last for long. There was a sudden sharp burn in his chest, as if his lungs had started to fill with water. D’Artagnan panicked, trying to move, to stop himself from drowning. There were hands holding him down and d’Artagnan tried to break free, to swim away, but they were too strong. Giving up, d’Artagnan opened his mouth, breathing in the water and allowing the darkness to envelop him again.

Then there was someone holding his hand, and fingers brushing through his hair. D'Artagnan leaned into the touch, not trying to move any further, knowing he won’t be able to. But this time, d’Artagnan was not scared as the darkness took him again.

Athos slumped back in the chair, his hand clenched tightly in d’Artagnan’s as he brushed away the sweaty locks which had fallen over the boy’s eyes. This was some special torture designed to break Athos in every way imaginable. He had remained calm and collected while searching for the kidnapped teenager, and swift and precise while commanding his team throughout the rescue mission. Strategies and plans were second nature to him. Bullets and fists were hardly a threat when compared to his superior training.

But when it came to sitting by helplessly, watching the teenager he had just managed to get back battle god only knew what shitty third rate drug those assholes had injected him with, while the doctors did test after test to figure out what it was; Athos was at the verge of losing control.

Whatever was coursing through d'Artagnan's veins was not letting him rest, and the doctors had refused to give him any further sedatives, not knowing how they would react with the drugs already in his system. With every laboured breath that d’Artagnan took, every pained whimper that escaped his lips and every time he panicked and struggled to wake up, Athos felt his heart clench painfully until he was sure there wasn’t much more of this he could take.

He sat upright again as the teenager clutched the hand he had been holding so tightly, Athos was sure his nails had broken skin. Another episode. Athos waited to see if the teenager would settle, his thumb on the button to call the doctors and his heart in his throat. Half a minute passed and d’Artagnan struggled to open his eyes.

“It’s okay, son. You’re safe. It’s me, Athos. You’re okay…” Athos murmured soothingly. He watched with amazement as even through the drugged haze his voice managed to reach the youngster and d’Artagnan quieted down, his head angling towards Athos. Tears welled up in the lawyer’s eyes and he bowed his head.

He had never felt so utterly useless in his life.

XXX

Alex was surprised to run into Aramis and Porthos in the lobby on his way to work. He was pretty sure that after the lovely stressful day they had all had yesterday Treville must have given them the day off. The man was known to be a hard ass but he couldn’t be that bad, right? Hell, even his own commissioner had allowed Mark to take a day off. Alex had been offered too, but he didn’t really have anything better to do.

“You guys look like hell,” he said as way of greeting. Porthos smirked and pulled him in for a one armed hug. Aramis raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, with that shirt?” Aramis scoffed good naturedly, “you have no right to judge.”

“Oye! It’s a gift alright!” Alex protested, looking down at the bright blue shirt. He held open the door for the elevator until all of them were in. “But seriously though, how’s d’Artagnan? Last we saw him, he didn’t look good.”

“He wasn’t, but he’s doing a lot better now. He had a rough night, with the doctors unable to sedate him, but once they found out what those bastards had given him they were able to flush it out of his system. They had him on bags of glucose for the rest of the night and Athos brought him home a couple of hours ago. The two of them are resting now.”

“So he’s going to be okay?” Alex asked, relieved. He knew next to nothing of the boy, but Athos cared about him and that was all he needed to know to make his wellbeing Alex’s concern too.

Porthos nodded. “Seems like it. He’s one tough kid.”

“He sounds like it. I would love to meet him when he’s up to it. I need to get his statement about yesterday too.”

Aramis nodded. “We’ll ask Athos and get back to you on that.”

“Speaking of resting, why aren’t the two of you at home as well?”

“We did get a day off,” Porthos replied, nodding. “But we decided to forgo rest for getting Marko’s statement.”

Aramis leaned against the walls of the elevator, closing his eyes. “I’m starting to think it wasn’t such a great idea after all.”

Porthos smiled. “It was your idea love.”

Aramis glared at the bigger man. “What’s the point of having you around if you’re not going to stop me when I’m having a lapse of judgment?”

“Please don’t answer that,” Alex interjected, willing the elevator to go faster. He did not have the energy to deal with completely not safe for work innuendos that the couple usually partook in. Porthos raised his hands palms up in a placating gesture just as the doors opened to let them in.

The three men had entered the holding area, and Alex paused with his hand on the door handle. “Gentlemen, be warned. The men in there are not a pretty sight.”

Porthos grunted. “They’re alive, aren’t they? More than they should have hoped for when they went after one of ours.”

“You getting any trouble for the way things were done?” Aramis asked, an eyebrow raised. Alex shook his head.

“Not really. Your DA is a useful person to be friends with. Even the customary psych eval I should have gotten for use of deadly force in the field was waved off.”

Marko and his goons were indeed not a pretty sight. Porthos was petty enough to get some satisfaction from the colorful variety of bruising on Marko’s face. His nose was bandaged up, as were his ribs most likely from the way he was hunched over in the chair.

“I demand to see my lawyer,” he stated as soon as Porthos and Aramis entered the interrogation room. They had been expecting that.

“Not his first rodeo, I take it?” Aramis asked Porthos, even though he was well aware of every single detail that was in the file in Porthos’ hand.

“Nope. Four years for battery and assault and four before that for unauthorized possession of drugs. No wonder you know how things are done,” Porthos replied, nodding at Marko. “But’s that okay. You’ll meet your lawyer as soon as the state assigns you one.”

Surprise flickered over the thug’s face. Porthos smirked. “Oh look at that. He thought someone hired by his gang was going to show up and save his ass?” He shook his head, sharing a grin with his partner.

Alex watched the men convince Marko to cooperate through the one way mirror in the interrogation room, once again impressed by how seamlessly they worked together. Aramis and Porthos, they were the legendary duo, even back in Afghanistan. Alex remembered back when he did not know any of them, he had heard rumors of how the two would always find the other, with or without radio communication. He had come to believe them when he had been assigned to Athos’ team: they had been told to locate and deactivate a possible IED in a hot zone and they had arrived to find out that the rebels had taken a village hostage as well. Alex had helped Aramis and Porthos cover Athos and Mark as they had disarmed the bomb. Aramis had picked off the rebels, one by one from afar, while Porthos had waltzed in head on, decapitating and disarming the remaining ones in a flurry of moves. Each had just seemed to know what the other was thinking, who the other was going to target next. Alex had had to fire barely two shots before the village was cleared.

He had even asked later, in a moment of naivety, how they were so tuned in to each other. The bawdy jokes that question had started had actually surprised Alex then, but later he had realized that that had been the first step towards ridding Alex of the inferiority complex that came with being part of a team where three members were so close. They were just guys, loud, confident and utterly obnoxious and Alex had felt right at home with them.

Now he watched as they used their combined mind reading skills on the poor unsuspecting goon for hire.

Aramis turned to the handcuffed man, his face a completely insincere mask of sympathy. “I’m sorry to break your heart and all, but your boss, Charon? Yeah, he’s the one who told us where you were. How else did you think we got to you so fast? No one’s coming to get you a lesser sentence. You’re going down for kidnapping and drugging a minor.” He turned towards Porthos. “Now how many years is that?”

Porthos pretended to think and then shrugged. “Anywhere from 12 to 20, depending on what mood the judge is in.”

“You’re lying.”

Porthos raised an eyebrow. “I’m offended. We’re men of honour, we don’t lie!”

“Don’t take it personally, love. Scum like him don’t know what honour is.” Aramis grinned as Marko’s face darkened. “Why would we lie?” he asked the thug. “We arrested you from the scene of the crime and we know you kidnapped the kid from the bus stop after injecting him with a potentially lethal drug. You’re in deep shit my friend.”

Porthos nodded sagely. “We just came down here to admire my handiwork,” he said, gesturing towards Marko’s face. “And now we’ll be going. Have fun in prison.”

Aramis shook his head. “I doubt he will. Haven’t you heard what they do to scumbags who go after kids, in there?”

Porthos pretended to think for a second before he shrugged, “He’s a big guy. He’ll be alright… for maybe a day or two.” The two shared a grin and stood up, making to leave.

“Wait!” Both of them paused. “I accepted a contract. The man behind it will just hire more people to go after the kid. He’s the one you want, not me!”

Aramis turned to him. “And I suppose you never met him, all money was transferred electronically and you only ever talked to him on the phone?”

Marko shook his head. “That’s how most of our business is done. But this guy was new. He agreed to meet us and handed us the money all by himself. Almost turned the son of a bitch away, but then it was good money. The idiot even told us his name. It was Henri; he was short and fat… The boy won’t be safe unless you get to him. It’s him you want!”

Porthos placed Henri’s mugshot on the table. “Is this him?”

Marko nodded his head vigorously. “Yes! Yes. Now will you cut me a deal?”

Porthos smiled but Aramis’ shoulders fell. He hated it when it was this easy. Thugs nowadays were no fun at all.

XXX

D’Artagnan was awakened by soft morning sunlight warming his face. He opened his eyes, breathing a sigh of relief as the familiarity of his room assured him that he was safe. He tried to sit up, the throbbing in his head making him wince and was met by the sight of Athos slumped against the bed, his head on d'Artagnan's arm, fast asleep. The lawyer had dark circles around his eyes and even in sleep, his face was creased with worry lines. He looked like he had aged several years in a single day. It didn't seem like he had been asleep for long either. D'Artagnan settled back on the bed, taking care not to move and disturb the sleeping man.

He was almost about to drift off when his bladder reminded him that a trip to the toilet was probably due. He groaned. There was no way he could get out of bed without waking up the older man. He shook the arm Athos was resting his head on slightly, but Athos did not stir.

“Athos?” His voice came out hoarse and weak. He frowned. He nudged Athos’ head with his other hand, clearing his throat before calling out again. “Athos?”

Athos jerked awake, a hand shooting out and grabbing d’Artagnan’s wrist. _Hard_.

D’Artagnan bit down a scream, tears coming to his eyes as his abused wrist was grasped tightly. It took a second for Athos to register what he was doing. He let go immediately and jumped a foot away from the bed, his face stricken with sorrow and guilt.

“D’Art, God, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to… I am so, _so_ sorry. You startled me and I just reacted. Are you alright?”

D’Artagnan nodded his head, slightly dazed from the onslaught of words. He tried to smile when Athos did not look convinced. “It’s okay, I’m okay,” he said, trying to calm down the lawyer who was still looking at him like as if he was singlehandedly responsible for everything that had gone wrong with d’Artagnan’s life. He held up both hands to reassure him. “Really Athos I’m fine. I just really needed to pee that’s all.”

Athos allowed himself to relax slightly, and came near the bed again. D’Artagnan threw off the sheets and slowly moved his legs, wincing as the muscles protested. Slowly, with a hand gripping Athos’ forearm, he lifted himself up, only to be assaulted by a wave of dizziness. He opened his mouth to warn Athos but the older man was already sliding an arm around his waist, steadying him. For a moment, d’Artagnan simply leaned against Athos, allowing his mind to stop panicking and breathing in the familiar scent of the man. He had probably not showered since yesterday morning, but to d’Artagnan, Athos only smelled like home.

“Come on, slowly now, can you walk?” Athos asked.

D’Artagnan tested how steady his feet were and then nodded. “Yeah, I think I’ll manage. Nothing’s broken right?”

“No, the doctors did a complete body scan. Nothing’s broken, but there is some bruising on the ribs. Any strenuous activity is out of the question for a few days.”

“Right. No marathons. Got it,” d’Artagnan huffed, making his way to the toilet slowly. Athos stopped outside the door, an eyebrow raised in question.

“Oh no, no, I think I can manage it from here,” d’Artagnan spluttered hastily, a blush creeping up on his cheeks.

Athos nodded, but looked worried. “Fine, but call out if you need anything. I’m right here.”

D’Artagnan had no doubt about that. He went inside and once he had taken care of business, he looked at his reflection in the mirror and frowned. There was a small bandage on the right side of his temple, the white contrasting starkly with the dark bruising around his eye. Several other bruises were starting to colour on his face and he looked like he had gone several rounds in a boxing ring.

Or gotten beaten up by four thugs and kidnapped.

Sighing softly, he gently put some water on his face, taking care not to jostle his bandaged wrists too much. He noticed that he was in one of Athos’ old jerseys, the one Athos had given him on the day he had brought him into his house so many months ago, bloodied and bruised; and the one that d’Artagnan had loved ever since. He stared back at his disheveled appearance in the mirror and smiled.

 

“If you think you’re going to sleep on the floor again, you’re wrong,” d’Artagnan stated with an air of finality, glaring at the lawyer with his arms crossed. Athos simply shrugged.

“I’ve slept on worse. Besides there is no way I’ll be able to get any sleep with you out of my sight,” Athos replied.

D’Artagnan had opted to go back to sleep after having gotten back from the toilet and drinking the glass of water Athos had gotten him. The lawyer had offered him some food, but d’Artagnan had shuddered. From what little he could remember of the night before apart from the stifling darkness and the burning pain, it was a lot of throwing up. Athos had agreed that he needed to sleep too, but he seemed to think he would get any on the cold floor, propped up against the bed.

“Fine then, the bed is big enough to share.”

Athos shook his head. “I might lash out again and hurt you. I’m not taking that chance.”

D’Artagnan groaned. “You’ll wake up with a million kinks in your back and neck. You’re old you know? You need to take better care of yourself.”

Athos pretended to glare at the teenager for a moment before smirking and shaking his head. “Fine, I’ll drag in the chaise from the hall, if that’ll make you happy.”

D’Artagnan nodded, and watched as Athos went about making enough place in the room and then bringing in the sofa. Athos plopped down on it, but his legs were too long and they rested on the floor. D’Artagnan frowned but Athos raised a threatening brow. “No more objections. I’m fine. Now go back to sleep.”

Smiling softly at the older man’s complete inability to appear stern due to a large yawn interrupting him, d’Artagnan allowed his eyes to close, letting the warmth lull him to sleep.

After what seemed like only a few minutes, Athos’ eyes shot open. It took him a moment to realize what had woken him up. There were quiet noises of distress coming from d’Artagnan’s bed. In an instant he was by the teenager’s side. He looked like he was having a nightmare: his hair were plastered to his forehead which was also drenched in sweat and his eyes seemed to be shut tight, tears leaking from the corners. His breath was coming out in short puffs and he seemed to be talking in his sleep.

“No, please, please don’t. Not him, please…” Athos frowned. He had learned from experience with Aramis that it wasn’t advisable to wake someone from the middle of a nightmare. It had always taken Aramis longer to calm down when he was shaken awake, his brain convinced that he was still in enemy hands. Maybe it was the same with d’Artagnan. Or maybe it wasn’t, Athos was no sleep therapist, he had no idea what to do. Before he could make up his mind, d’Artagnan started shaking his head from side to side, thrashing violently.

“No, no, no… Athos!” D’Artagnan shot up straight in bed, his eyes wide with terror and his breaths coming in large gasps. Athos rushed to calm him, a hand on his shoulder to ground him and another on his cheek to make the teenager focus on him.

“Shh, it’s okay. You’re safe, it’s okay. I’m right here,” he whispered. D’Artagnan blinked at him in confusion, his hands clutching desperately at Athos’ shirt. “I’m right here, son. I’ve got you.” Slowly, d’Artagnan’s breathing calmed down, and he wiped at his eyes. Athos noticed his shaking hands and grasped them in his own.

D’Artagnan looked at the older man, willing the image of the lawyer’s body hitting the ground with a bullet hole in his head to fade from his mind. Athos was okay, _he_ was okay. He took a deep breath and nodded at the lawyer. “They shot you.” Athos looked at the boy in confusion, not understanding the broken whisper. D’Artagnan’s eyes welled up with tears again. “You came for me and I tried to warn you off, but I couldn’t make you stop. Athos, _I watched you die._ ”

Without another word, Athos wrapped the boy in a tight embrace. D’Artagnan clung to him, burrowing in his chest as he closed his eyes, letting the steady rhythm of Athos’ heartbeat wash away any lingering images from the nightmare. Athos rested his chin on the teenager’s head, his own eyes moist with tears. Trust the kid to have nightmares of _him_ dying after having been through such a traumatic day himself.

After several minutes when Athos felt that the teenager had calmed down, he pulled back and looked him in the eye. “Alright?”

D’Artagnan nodded, a contrite look on his face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

Athos brushed away a tear from the teenager’s cheek, raising an eyebrow at him. “What have I told you about apologizing for stupid things?” D’Artagnan returned the smile and Athos was gratified to see some of the colour returning back to his cheeks. “Now, listen to me. All the men who took you yesterday are behind bars, and they’ll remain there for a long time. Your uncle is not going to be sending any more people after you, Aramis and Porthos took care of that too. As for Henri, I’m going to make sure he disappears from your life. You don’t have to worry about anyone getting to me, I can take care of myself, alright?” Athos waited until the teenager nodded to show that he understood, before ruffling up his hair. “All you need to worry about is getting back on your feet. Will you be able to go back to sleep?” D’Artagnan looked unsure, but Athos pushed him back gently until he was lying down. “Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.” He brushed back the dark hair that had fallen over the teenager’s face. “I’m right here.”

D’Artagnan nodded, allowing his eyes to close, safe in the knowledge that Athos was alright. The lawyer sighed, marveling once again at how the kid trusted him so implicitly. He had no idea what he had done to deserve it, but he knew one thing: he wasn’t going to lose it by breaking his promise.

XXX

 

XXX

 

“Nope. Absolutely not,” d’Artagnan glared at the patiently waiting lawyer. “You’re most definitely _not_ feeding me.”

Athos simply sat there with a spoonful of soup ready, a patient look on his face. “The doctors said you needed to rest your wrists for a few days.”

“I’m sure he didn’t mean that I couldn’t even hold a bloody _spoon_!”

“Language, d’Art,” Athos admonished automatically. Surprise flickered over d’Artagnan’s face but then he ducked his head.

“What?” Athos asked.

The teenager did not reply for a few seconds, but Athos could see him smiling softly. He looked up at the lawyer and shook his head. “Nothing… It’s just the first time you’ve said anything like that.”

“Like what?” Athos asked, confused. The soup was getting cold.

“Like telling me to mind my language.”

It was Athos’ turn to look away. He hadn’t even realized he was doing that. A thought occurred to him then. “You don’t mind, right?”

D’Artagnan shook his head. “No, no, not at all. It’s actually kind of… nice.” He blushed when Athos smiled. A hand came up to cleanly swipe out the spoon from Athos’ loosened grip. D’Artagnan grinned. “But you’re still not feeding me, old man.”

“Fine. And some time when I’m not afraid of giving you another concussion, I’ll get back at you for the ‘old man’ comments. I’m barely thirty!”

“Yup. You’re _old_.” The teenager smirked as the lawyer rolled his eyes and switched on the TV, flickering through the channels.

Both of them looked up a few minutes later. Noises were heard at the door and a moment later, Porthos and Aramis walked in.

“Hey kiddo,” Porthos greeted d’Artagnan. “How are you feeling?”

D’Artagnan smiled at the lawyer, “A lot better. Where had the two of you gone?”

“Well, Sleeping Beauty here was taking a day off, so we thought we might as well get to the office,” Aramis said, grinning at Athos cheekily before turning to d’Artagnan with a serious look. “Heaven only knows what will happen if all three of us take the day off together.”

“Everyone will be absolutely lost. Not a single case will be fought and won on that day,” Porthos added, plopping down on the sofa next to d’Artagnan.

Athos smirked. “Treville will probably kill all the other incompetent lawyers in the building.”

“The justice system will break down and the streets of Paris would be overrun by criminals. Bloodshed and chaos will reign,” Aramis piped in. All three of them turned to stare at him. “What?” he asked.

Shaking his head, Athos got up with d’Artagnan’s empty bowl. “Have the two of you gotten anything to eat yet?”

Before either of them could answer, Porthos’ stomach growled. Athos grinned. “Right, I’ll fix up some lunch.”

Aramis shot Porthos a pointed look before jumping up, “I’ll help.”

XXX

Aramis sat at one of the stools around the island in the middle of the kitchen, rummaging through his briefcase. He knew he had put the folder there, but he just… Ah there it was.

“Got it! Here you go,” he said holding it out for Athos. Athos dried his hands on one of the dish towels before taking it from Aramis. Aramis waited a couple of moments for Athos to skim over the details, and then grinned when the latter looked up at him. “You’re welcome.”

Athos returned his friend’s smile, taking another look at the paperwork. Apparently the two idiots had spent the entire morning getting each of the thugs’ statements about last night and they had enough witnesses testifying against Henri to throw any case he had of rightful custody out the window. “This is great. Thank you.” He let the folder drop on the counter and sagged against it. “This is going to get d’Artagnan home in no time at all.”

Aramis studied his friend, his eyebrows drawn together in confusion. “So why are you looking like as if I just told you that someone shot your puppy?”

Athos sighed. “I… I don’t know. After yesterday and everything that happened, I just want all of this over with. I want Henri gone, I want d’Artagnan to be able to walk out without having to worry that someone else is coming after him. I want him to play video games late and eat unhealthy food and demand to be allowed to go to parties. I want him to go to school and ask that girl out that he is always pining after. I want him to be happy. He’s fifteen, for god’s sake! Is that too much to ask?”

“Hey, hey it’s okay,” Aramis whispered, coming around to Athos’ side of the island. He reached out and placed a comforting hand on Athos’ neck, rubbing at the tight muscles. “It’s okay to freak out after what happened yesterday. But you have to remember that you don’t have to deal with anything alone, alright? We’re here, for whatever you need us to do.”

Athos nodded slightly, leaning into the comforting touch. “I know.”                                                                

“And d’Artagnan will get to do all those things. We’ll give him horrible relationship advice and you will dress him up in one of your fancy suits and he’ll take his lady friend to a posh restaurant and make a complete fool of himself. He’ll be happy. Hell, he _is_ happy. You just need to pay attention to how he perks up when you’re around to notice that. The two of you are adorable, you know?” He was glad to get a chuckle out of his friend. “Right, now you carry on with the cooking, I’ll go get out of this suit and put on some pyjamas.”

Athos smirked. “It’s one in the afternoon.”

Aramis cocked his head to the side, “And your point is? Pyjamas are not limited by time or tide.” Athos watched him saunter away and shook his head.

XXX

D’Artagnan cocked his head to a side when Aramis and Athos had left for the kitchen, giving Porthos a look. The older man was staring fixedly at the TV screen. “What?” He turned to face the teenager when his stare did not waver.

He was met with a raised brow. “That was as subtle as a train wreck,” d’Artagnan commented wryly.

Porthos remained silent for a couple of minutes, before sighing. “Damn that idiot. I was going to wait until you were feeling better but he had to go around being so obvious about it.”

D’Artagnan swallowed, suddenly nervous. With the threat of Henri still looming over his head, his mind was coming up with all kinds of horrible scenarios prompted by the somber look on Porthos’ face. Porthos must have realized that the teenager was panicking, because he turned towards him and took hold of his hand.

“Hey, kid. Relax. I just need to ask you something. It’s probably nothing, but if it _is_ something I need to know immediately so I can be prepared, alright?”

D’Artagnan wasn’t much reassured by that but he nodded anyway. Porthos took a deep breath. “When you were on the streets, did you come across a man named Charon?” The teenager drew in a sharp breath but didn’t reply. He didn’t need to. Porthos got his answer from the flurry of emotions that flickered across his face. Recognition, anger, guilt, sorrow, shame; d’Artagnan looked away, his eyes fixed on his hands.

Putting a tentative hand on his shoulder, Porthos waited until d’Artagnan looked at him, his wide brown eyes searching Porthos’ own dark ones. Porthos had no idea what he was hoping to find, but he held his gaze, squeezing his shoulder gently. “You know you can talk to me right?”

D’Artagnan nodded after a minute, taking a deep breath. He did know that. If there was anyone whom he could tell about his past without any fear of being judged, it was Porthos. He would understand. “Yeah. Yeah, I know Charon. He was the leader of this gang I got mixed up with a couple of years ago.”

Porthos kept silent, waiting for the kid to go on. He hated having to push him to talk about all the horrors that he had left behind, but with Charon involved, Porthos needed to know everything.

“I was getting beaten up pretty regularly in the winter months. Food was scarce and word got around that I had a knack for getting some anyway. Without a gang to protect me, there wasn’t a single day that I kept whatever I managed to get. Then this older kid, Jackson, he was around seventeen I think, he made me a deal. I was supposed to act as his replacement as lookout on this drug deal, and he would look out for me on the streets in return.” D’Artagnan risked a glance at Porthos, expecting to see disapproval on the older man’s face.

Porthos nodded, taking care to keep his face as impassive as possible. The teenager was studying him intently and Porthos didn’t want to risk him mistaking his horror at everything that the kid had to go through for disgust at anything he had done to survive. “They do that a lot; use young kids as lookouts. Nobody suspects a kid, and they are harder to recognize.” He sighed. “I just didn’t expect Charon to use the same methods he once detested… so that’s how you got involved with the gang. How did you get out? I haven’t heard of many people who do that.”

D’Artagnan stared at Porthos, surprised. “ _You_ knew Charon too?” he asked, puzzled.

“He was a friend. The only brother I had known on the streets. We grew up together.” Porthos chuckled at the disbelieving look on the teenager’s face. “What?”

“Nothing… it’s just hard to imagine someone like you being friends with someone like Charon.”

Porthos’ face darkened. “Back when I knew him, he was the kid who wouldn’t eat unless he had made sure I had had something to eat too. When Athos’ dad took me in, I lost contact with him after that. The next time we came across each other was actually a few years ago when we foiled his plans to blow up half of Paris. He tried to kill me. He would have succeeded too if Aramis hadn’t been so quick a shot.”

D’Artagnan’ surprised look had morphed into something close to horrified as he stared at Porthos. He shook his head after several minutes, confident enough to continue his story. “In the beginning I had no idea I was becoming involved in a gang. They told me to stand at the corner of a street and shout out if I saw a police car rolling by. I was great at spotting trouble and it wasn’t long before Jackson was taking me along to meet with buyers. The day I met Charon I had spotted a trap and warned off our people. He was impressed. I had potential, he said. He needed natural talent like me. He offered me a place in his inner circle if I passed one last test. By then I was well aware that whatever they were doing was illegal, but I had no idea how dangerous it was until… until I watched Jackson die and almost got shot myself.”

Porthos paled. D’Artagnan brought his knees up to his chest, wincing slightly as the movement pulled at his ribs. His eyes had taken on the same empty look Porthos had seen on his face a few days ago when he had told them why he had left home. Porthos almost asked him to stop, he did not want the teenager reliving memories which were so disturbing for him. But d’Artagnan seemed determined to continue. “They sent me to a deal, and this time I wasn’t the lookout. I was the bait. Jackson and I were to meet the buyers in an abandoned house. We walked straight in, not realizing it was an ambush. Members of a rival gang were waiting for us with guns drawn. Jackson got hit almost as soon as we entered, but he shoved me away, yelling at me to get out. I ran. There were bullets flying all around me, but I managed to make it out.” The teenager stopped and slowly folded up the right leg of his trousers. He traced a faded scar on his calf. “A bullet managed to graze me as I tried to hide and the rival gang members assumed from the blood that I had been shot. I was just a kid and therefore not really worth hunting down and killing so they took the drugs we had been carrying and left.”

Porthos had no idea when he had taken hold of d’Artagnan’s hand, but he realized he was gripping it too tightly when the teenager winced. He loosened his hold, throwing d’Artagnan an apologetic look. D’Artagnan managed to give him a feeble smile, before continuing. “That was when Charon and his lackeys found me. I thought they would kill me for losing the drugs, but instead Charon had them carry me to safety. Someone even bandaged my leg up. Later I was taken to him and he told me that they had been informed that the rival gang was planning an ambush and that the bag we

had been carrying did not even have drugs. He praised me on managing to get away and told me that there was a place for me in his inner circle.”

“What did you say?”

D’Artagnan blinked, tears forming in his eyes. “The image of Jackson’s body falling to the ground riddled with bullets was enough to tell me how Charon treated his people. There was no protection to be had under him. I spat at his face and told him to go fuck himself.”

Porthos shook his head, “I bet he didn’t like that.”

“Yeah, I had expected to be beaten up too, but he just stood there laughing like a maniac. He called me something, I don’t remember what, and he told me that even if I walked away then, I would be crawling back to him before the month ended. I told him that I would rather die than come back. I think that’s the only reason he let me go, he wanted to see how long it would take for me to break… I don’t know. I just knew that I woke up a few days later to find myself alone on the streets again. Every few weeks his people would come looking for me and beat me up. It was to remind me what I owed them, they said. But no matter how bad it got, and it got pretty damn bad a lot of times, the memory of Jackson’s lifeless eyes kept me from returning.”

Porthos was silent for several minutes. His mind was reeling from the realization that the simple fact that d’Artagnan was sitting on the couch besides him was the product of so many miracles that had saved the boy’s life time and time again. The kid had had so many brushes with certain death at such a young age and come out alive that Porthos was sure he was more worthy of the Medal of Valour kept in his upstairs drawer than any of them were.

And still life refused to take it easy on the fifteen year old.

“So was it the people whom Henri sent after me?” d’Artagnan guessed. “They work for Charon don’t they? That’s how you found out?”

Porthos bit his lower lip, debating telling the teenager the truth. On one side it just didn’t feel right to le to the kid, but on the other hand, he was already dealing with all the bullshit his uncle had heaped into his life, he did not need to worry about a problem he couldn’t do anything about anyway. D’Artagnan was not looking at him, his gaze focused on his hands, his head bowed.

He sighed, reaching for d’Artagnan’s chin and raising his head up until the teenager was looking at him. “D’Artagnan, listen to me. Yes, they worked for him, but there is nothing I wouldn’t do to make sure that you don’t have to cross paths with any of those assholes ever again, you understand that? You did what you had to do to survive, but now that life is behind you. You can stop looking over your shoulder and wondering when this respite would end. As long as there is breath in my body, I’ll make sure that Charon and his people never bother you again, alright?”

“Why are you’re not angry?” d’Artagnan asked, perplexed. “I just told you that I have more than just an insane uncle after me and you’re fine with that?”

“So you had thought that as soon as it got hard we would throw you out?” Porthos narrowed his eyes, “Is that the kind of people you think we are, the kind of person _Athos_ is?”

D’Artagnan winced, looking away. The lawyer berated himself for taking so long to realize what the kid needed. Slowly, taking care not to jostle any of the boy’s injuries, he pulled him in for a hug. D’Artagnan did not react for a minute. Then two long arms latched around Porthos’ neck and he buried his face in his shoulder. Porthos could feel the sobs that racked the boy’s frame and he pulled him in even tighter. “Shh, it’s okay. I’ve got you,” he murmured soothingly, running his hand across the kid’s back.

It was a while before the teenager loosened his hold on Porthos and wiped at his eyes with his sleeve. He pulled back a little, “Are you… Are you going to tell Athos?”

Porthos raised an eyebrow. “You don’t want me to?”

D’Artagnan shook his head. “It’s not that. It’s… What with everything that happened yesterday and all the mess with Henri, he’s already stressed out as it is. I don’t want him thinking about all this when he has so much on his mind already.”

Porthos nodded slowly. “He’s worried because he cares about you, you know that right?” D’Artagnan nodded silently. Porthos narrowed his eyes. “You’re not worried that he wouldn’t understand, are you? Because he would. There’s nothing you can tell him that’s going to drive him away. That’s not how people like Athos work. He cares about you and he would go the seventh circle of hell for you if he has to. He’s not just going to decide at some point to give up on you. None of us are. You’re stuck with us. The sooner you get that inside your head the easier it is going to be for all of us.”

D’Artagnan smiled shyly and nodded, his throat too clogged to form any words. Porthos’ ability to just _get_ what was troubling him and lay his fears to rest shouldn’t surprise him anymore, but somehow it still did.

“I’ll go see what’s taking the food so long,” Porthos said standing up from the couch. He threw the TV remote at d’Artagnan who caught it.

XXX

Aramis rubbed at his long hair vigorously with a towel, keeping one hand on the rail as he came down the stairs. Porthos hadn’t been upstairs at all. He had decided to talk to the kid after all. Not that Aramis had left him much choice, with the not so subtle exit. Aramis was of the opinion that if there was any danger to the teenager from Charon, they needed to know immediately. Charon hadn’t implied any sort of threat to d’Artagnan, but as far as the drug lord was concerned, Aramis didn’t trust anything the man said. Childhood friend or not, Aramis would drop the bastard where he stood if he so much as tried to come near d’Artagnan.

He stopped dead in his tracks when he reached the foot of the stairs.

There in the hallway right beside the door to the hall, Athos sat, his knees drawn up to his chest, his face ashen, staring into space.

He had heard every word.

 

 

%MCEPASTEBIN%


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m going to wring his neck by the way.” 
> 
> Porthos glared at Aramis. “You’re going to wring his neck? I’m thinking of wringing yours right now. You tell me to talk to d’Art and then you leave Athos alone. What the hell were you thinking?” 
> 
> “He was cooking when I left, dammit! How was I supposed to know that he would leave and overhear the two of you?”

Athos stood, shoulders hunched and hands buried deep in his pockets, staring silently at the empty swings in the playground. He had had no particular destination in mind when he had left, he had just known that he needed to get out of the house before he did something stupid. In his haste, he hadn’t remembered to take his coat but he was so preoccupied that he barely even noticed the cold.

_D’Artagnan had been in a gang. A gang that was now aware of where he was._

Athos was not one to give up easily, but right then, he just felt completely and utterly _done_. Everytime he thought that the worst was behind him, every time he dared to have hope that things were going to be better, every goddamn time it all went to hell. Maybe he just wasn’t meant to be happy. Maybe that was all he was destined to do, to keep struggling and fighting just to stay above the water as wave after crushing wave tried to drown him. He had thought he had left the blood and death behind when he had left the army and settled down with his newly wed wife. That had turned out to be the cruellest of irony when he was struggling to keep the blood from flowing out of the gaping hole in his brother’s chest. He had watched the light fade from Thomas’ eyes, and that night he had lost the only beacon he had allowed himself to rely on.

He had been content to live in the darkness after that, numbing himself with alcohol and work, until d’Artagnan had barrelled into his life. The boy had broken down all his walls, one by one, until he had firmly lodged himself in Athos’ home and heart. Then Henri had shown up, and with him the threat of d’Artagnan being taken away from him. And now, just when he was about to solve that problem and save the world that he had so precariously rebuilt, from crashing down around him again, some gang leader from d’Artagnan’s old life had shown up.

Not only that but the teenager hadn’t even trusted him enough to tell him that himself.

That stung. Even more than the terror that Athos felt everytime he imagined d’Artagnan back in the hands of Charon and his gang, he felt hurt. Everything he had done from the first day the teenager had so dramatically entered their lives had been to earn his trust, and it seemed like he had failed in that too, just as he had failed to keep him safe. Not only had d’Artagnan not told him anything about Charon himself, he had almost begged Porthos not to tell him either.

Wasn’t that expected though? A bitter voice in Athos’ head scoffed at him. He should have been used to this by now, shouldn’t he? He had let d’Artagnan get close, he had let him in, had started to care about him; and all the while the kid had been lying to him and hiding his past. Just like _she_ had, so many years ago.

Tears clouded his vision and he closed his eyes, inhaling harshly.

An image of what d’Artagnan had looked like when they had found him at the warehouse flashed in his mind. The teenager had been exhausted, drugged and bruised but Athos remembered how his dark eyes had shone with trust and _love_ when he had recognized Athos. In one look Athos had known that the kid had never doubted that they would come for him, that _Athos_ would find him.

And here he was, not only doubting d’Artagnan, but lumping him in with people like his wife. The kid did not deserve that. No matter what he did, he did not deserve _that_. Athos opened his eyes, feeling sick. The idiot had only wanted to avoid worrying Athos further by telling him everything. And even if what Porthos had hinted at was true, even if d’Artagnan was afraid that Athos would think differently of him after knowing his past, with the way he was reacting, Athos couldn’t blame the kid for thinking that.

Athos could almost hear Aramis’ voice admonishing him for being his usual idiot self. He smiled. With everything that had happened to him, it was hard not to jump to the worst conclusion when someone hid something from him; especially when he cared about that someone. But this was _d’Art_. If the kid could find something in someone as screwed up as Athos to love and admire, then maybe Athos could strive to become the kind of person worthy of that honour.

With that thought in mind he turned back to go home.

XXX

“You know he’s not stupid. He’s going to figure out what’s wrong,” Aramis hissed, taking care to keep his voice low as he handed Porthos the plate that he had just washed. Porthos dried the plate off with the towel in his hand before shaking his head.

“He has a lot of things on his mind. He bought the whole Treville wanted something urgently,” Porthos murmured. Aramis raised a sceptical eyebrow at his boyfriend causing him to frown. “At least I hope he did. The kid has enough to worry about without Athos freaking out on him right now.”

“I’m going to wring his neck by the way.”

Porthos glared at Aramis. “You’re going to wring _his_ neck? I’m thinking of wringing _yours_ right now. You tell me to talk to d’Art and then you leave Athos alone. _What in hell were you thinking?”_

“He was cooking when I left, dammit! How was I supposed to know that he would leave that and overhear the two of you?”

“Yeah well he did. And god knows what bar we’re going to have to drag him out of this time, so thank you very much!”

Aramis was prevented from answering by a pointed cough. Both men turned to find Athos leaning against the doorframe. “Gentlemen,” Athos drawled, his expression the usual mask of annoyed amusement at his friends’ antics. “If I may interrupt, I would like something to eat please.”

Aramis huffed a surprised laugh. “Well, you did leave the food unattended. Most of it is stuck at the bottom of the pot but Porthos did manage to salvage some of it though. So help yourself.”

Two pairs of watchful eyes followed Athos’ movements as he got himself some food before sitting on one of the high stools around the island. He ate quietly for several minutes and then looked at Porthos when neither of them broke the silence. “So where’s d’Art?”

It was Porthos who answered. “He’s in his room. He got drowsy after taking his pills and said he was going to take a nap.”

“Good, good,” Athos nodded. Aramis narrowed his eyes at his obvious avoidance of discussing what had freaked him out to the extent that he had left without a word for almost half an hour. Though truth be told, Aramis was surprised he was actually back so soon. He too had prepared himself for rescuing Athos from drowning in another pub hours later when he had caught sight of the look on his friend’s face. Aramis was well aware of Athos’ capabilities of blaming himself for anything that went wrong with people he cared about, and this façade of calm was extremely disturbing.

Before he could call out the man on his bullshit though, the ding of the doorbell could be heard throughout the house. Aramis winced, hoping whoever it was hadn’t managed to wake d’Artagnan up.

All three of them looked at each other, Athos turning noticeably pale. “We expecting anybody?” Porthos asked. The other two shook their heads and Athos started to get up.

“Sit,” Aramis commanded. “I’ll see who it is. We’re not done here yet.” Aramis narrowed his eyes until Athos acquiesced and sat back down, though Aramis did not miss his hand inching closer to the knife rack. Aramis sighed and went to open the door.

XXX

If Andrew had to describe what he was feeling in one word right then, he would have went with baffled. Although mildly terrified wouldn’t be too much off the mark.

The man had seemed friendly enough when he had opened the door, all big smile and polite questions. But as soon as he had told him that he was looking for d’Artagnan, the friendliness had vanished. He had been pulled inside the house, and the man had proceeded to do a full body pat down like they did at airports. And if that wasn’t weird enough, two other men, both of whom looked extremely capable of breaking every bone in his body, had chosen that moment to walk into the hall.

Things had only gone downhill after that and Andrew found himself sat on a sofa, looking up at all three of them and answering question after question. He had actually been surprised that they had not taken him into a tiny interrogation room with a single bulb on the roof swinging sinisterly and foreboding stains on the floor.

“So you got the address from the principal?”

“What subjects do you take with d’Artagnan?”

“How long have you known him for again?”

Andrew looked from one threatening face to another. He felt sweat break out on his forehead. “Um yes?” he stuttered, not having understood a single question.

“Kid. You better make it extremely clear who you are, why you are here, and what you want from d’Artagnan before Porthos here starts breaking bones,” the one with the moustache told him amiably.

Andrew took one look at the large man and gulped. “My name is Andrew J. Gale, the J is for my mother’s father, I’ve never been able to pronounce it. I can write it down for you if you like…” The expression on all three men turned impatient and he continued hastily, “Or not. It’s really not all that important. My parents split up and mom brought me to Paris. Dad’s in Detroit though, and I would have rather stayed there with him, but then it’s not like anyone was asking me. So I started at this new school and the only seat empty was the one beside d’Artagnan in History, and I swear he said it was okay to sit there. He told me he lived with his uncles and that his dad had died. Mine isn’t dead by the way, he’s in Detroit, but I, uh, already told you that. And uh, d’Artagnan hasn’t been coming to school and he’s going to fail Math. I thought I would check up on him, although it’s completely okay if he’s not here. In fact I think I’ll leave…” he trailed off, realizing that he was babbling. The one Mr Moustache had called Porthos sat down and all three glared at him. “Or I’ll stay. Really, I’m fine either way,” he amended with a gulp.

Mr Moustache had his head cocked on one side. He turned to the third man, the one in desperate need of a shave and did something with his eyebrow. To Andrew’s surprise, Beard Guy’s face twitched in some weird coded response and both of them turned to him.

It was Bearded Guy who spoke. “D’Artagnan is failing Math?”

Andrew blinked, wondering how the man knew that before remembering to answer. “Yeah, yeah. He will, if he doesn’t give the makeup quiz tomorrow,” he replied.

“Really Athos?” Mr. Moustache asked his friend before taking a seat himself. “Hello. I’m Aramis, this is Athos,” he gestured towards Bearded Guy, “and that is Porthos. We’re the uncles that d’Art told you he lived with.”

Andrew nodded vigorously in reply before licking his lips. “So where’s d’Art?”

Athos sighed. “He’s not well. He’s…”

“Right here.” All heads turned towards the door. D’Artagnan stood, rubbing at his eyes. “Drew! Hi,” he called, noticing the boy.

Athos watched Andrew breathe in relief and gestured for Porthos and Aramis to get out. “D’Artagnan, Andrew here says he’s from your school.”

D’Artagnan cocked his head to a side at the inquisitive tone. “Yeah, yeah, he’s a friend,” he assured Athos. The lawyer seemed satisfied.

“Well in that case, we’re sorry for the third degree.” Athos smiled at the kid who shook his head immediately.

“It’s cool, no problem at all. None whatsoever.”

Athos followed Aramis and Porthos out of the room, squeezing d’Artagnan’s shoulder as he passed him. The teenager gave him a smile before sitting down with his friend.

Aramis and Porthos were waiting for Athos in the kitchen, with Porthos at his laptop and Aramis on the phone. The latter held up a finger, stopping Athos from talking. “Yes thank you. No, that will be all. Thank you very much.” He hung up the phone.

Athos folded his arms, “Tell me.”

“His story checks out. He did get d’Artagnan’s address from the principal’s secretary, guy called Philip. He was very apologetic when he realized that he shouldn’t have given away that information, though he did assure me that Andrew Josseame Gale is a student there and he had indeed wanted to check up on d’Art,” Aramis informed the room, tucking his phone away.

“Yeah, he’s a recent transfer. The school file shows him transferred from Detroit and enrolled here five days ago,” Porthos confirmed, shutting the laptop lid. Athos nodded at his friends, his shoulders relaxing as he picked up the food he had been eating and microwaved it.

Porthos and Aramis had a silent debate of who should be the one to bring up the elephant in the room. As usual Porthos lost. “So we know he’s not one of Charon’s people,” he stated. Athos’ shoulders went rigid, and he replied without turning to look at them.

“No, no he’s not.” He turned to them, ignoring the ding of the microwave as it finished heating up the food. “But how long before someone does turn up here looking for d’Art? Or what if it is not here but at school, or when he’s outside, or anywhere we can’t protect him? What then?”

Aramis winced at the terrified look on Athos’ face but it was Porthos who answered. “Athos do you trust me?” Athos was thrown off by the question, but he nodded. Porthos smiled. “Then trust me. I’ll make sure Charon knows d’Art is off limits.”

Athos sighed, his expression turning to one of frustration. “Charon is not exactly someone you can reason with Porthos! He thought blowing up an entire district would rid Paris of poverty for god’s sake!”

“He’s right, you know,” Aramis agreed. “We’ll never actually be sure that someone is not going to get to d’Artagnan.”

“So what do you suggest we do?” Porthos asked, annoyance creeping into his voice.

“I say we shoot the bastard.”

Athos shook his head, raising an eyebrow at Aramis. “No. We’re not shooting him. Yet.” He turned to Porthos. “You talk to him. Make sure he gets that if he’s seen within a fifty mile radius of d’Artagnan, I’ll personally put a bullet between his eyes.” Porthos nodded, glad that at least one of his friends trusted his persuasive capabilities. He glared at Aramis who looked ready to object to Athos’ instructions. Athos held out a hand to stop him before he did. “And I want a pair of eyes on d’Artagnan whenever he steps out of the house.”

Aramis and Porthos both stared at Athos. It was Aramis who dared put what both of them were feeling into words. “Don’t you think that’s going too far?”

In a flash, Athos’ face was an inch away from Aramis, his expression thunderous. “Yesterday we got d’Artagnan back after he got kidnapped, today I find out that a gang leader knows him personally, and you’re asking me if I’m going too far?”

Porthos got up but Aramis shook his head at him. He placed a hand on Athos’ shoulder not trying to get out of the grip he had on his collar. “Yeah, I am. You can’t keep an eye on him at all times. What about when he wants to go over to one of his friend’s? What if he asks to go to a party? What then?” Aramis asked calmly. “You can’t let something he’s left behind dictate his life.”

Athos did not say anything for a minute. Then his shoulders deflated and his head dropped to Aramis’ shoulder the latter immediately pulled the man in for a hug. “I can’t lose him,” Athos whispered brokenly, “not him too. Please.”

Aramis closed his eyes, feeing his brother’s anguish just as starkly. Life without the teenager around seemed like a vague impossible notion now, and just the thought of something happening to the bright innocent boy made Aramis feel like throwing up.

Porthos came up behind Athos and wrapped his arms around the man from behind. “You’re not going to lose him, brother. Not if both of us can help it.”

Athos did not reply, taking comfort from both his friends as he leaned against one while the other held him up. There was no doubt in his mind that they would rather die than let anything happen to d’Artagnan.

It was more a question of whether he would allow it to come to that.

XXX

Andrew stared nervously at the door for several minutes, making sure they weren’t coming back. He shook himself out of it when d’Artagnan raised an amused eyebrow at him. He glared at the teenager, “So you failed to mention that your ‘uncles’ were once part of the Spanish Inquisition.”

D’Artagnan looked confused for a second before realization dawned on his face. “So that’s what Athos was apologizing for,” he said, wincing in sympathy. “Sorry about that. You just caught them on a bad day, that’s all.”

Andrew waved away his apology. “Speaking of bad days, you look like you had one yourself,” he commented gesturing at d’Artagnan’s face. D’Artagnan touched his sore cheek self-consciously before looking away. “Hey, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Andrew added, shrugging his shoulders.

D’Artagnan shot him a grateful look. “It’s not that. It’s just that… it’s a rather long story and you won’t believe half of it.” He trailed off.

“You don’t know that.”

The quietly spoken statement and the earnest look on Andrew’s face was so unlike the usually boisterous teenager that d’Artagnan took a deep breath.

“Okay, here goes. See, Athos and the guys? They aren’t really my uncles.” He smiled at the exaggerated eye roll Andrew directed at him. “My real uncle is a douchebag who is still sore that I ran away from home a couple of years ago after my father’s death and he decided to send people after me when he found out where I was. I got kidnapped, Athos and the others worked with the police to get me back. They’re special forces by the way, not the Spanish Inquisition.”

“That…” Andrew breathed after a long moment, “is the most badass reason I’ve ever heard for missing school!” D’Artagnan blinked. He had expected disbelief or pity from his friend, not the slightly awed look Andrew was staring at him with. “You got a hit taken out on you! And you got kidnapped!” Andrew exclaimed gesturing around in his usual emphatic manner making d’Artagnan smile in relief at the way his friend seemed to take his bizarre life story in stride and leaned back on the couch. “I mean talk about living on the edge man. Who cares that you’re failing math?”

D’Artagnan sat up, his gratitude at Andrew’s easy acceptance quickly being replaced by alarm. “I’m failing math?”

Andrew paused, his arms mid-air and a deer in the head lights look on his face. “Oh yeah, and I might have let that slip in front of…” he trailed off, gesturing at the door leading out of the hall.

D’Artagnan’s shoulders fell and he slumped back on the couch, crestfallen. For some reason, even though he knew that Athos wouldn’t fault him for a bad grade with everything that had been going on, he had wanted to do well in the first month back to school. He had wanted Athos to know that he had made the right decision in sending d’Artagnan to such a high class school. He sighed. “Mr Garhead won’t give me another chance, would he?”

Andrew shook his head. “Nope. I’m sorry man. You didn’t hand in the last two assignments and you flunked the last quiz too. He’s giving a makeup quiz tomorrow and I would help you study for it, but it doesn’t seem like you’re in any shape to get back to school,” he said, before remembering something. “When are you coming back, by the way? It’s not me who wants to know, Constance was asking about you.”

D’Artagnan perked up, all thoughts of failing Math vanishing. “She was?”

“Oh yeah. She asked if I knew why you hadn’t been coming to school. I told her to try your cell, and she said she had, but it was switched off or something.” D’Artagnan smiled, something in his chest fluttering a little at the thought of Constance worried about him. “I think she talks to me only so that she doesn’t have to sit at that jackass’ table during recess. He’s back you know, the guy you beat up.”

All sunlit thoughts disappeared from his head as d’Artagnan groaned. “Bonacieux is back?”

“Yup. So are his lackeys. You’re right. He is a douche,” Andrew quipped. “Constance is avoiding him though, so that’s a plus.”

D’Artagnan rubbed at his forehead, frowning. “Yeah, I don’t know. Last I talked to her she had seemed pissed that I had defended her when he had tried to hit her. I don’t get what she wants…”

Andrew rolled his eyes. “It didn’t occur to you that Bonacieux had acted out of jealousy? His girlfriend goes around spending time with this other hot new kid that shows up, of course he’s going to start feeling some jealousy.”

“And that justifies trying to hit her?” d’Artagnan asked heatedly.

“I didn’t say that.” Andrew raised a placating hand. “But as for why Constance is pissed at you, she seems like the kind of girl who would resent anyone treating her like a damsel in distress. She’s not going to swoon into your arms because you ‘saved’ her from her boyfriend. And then you beat the crap out of him. Kinda puts you in the same league as Bonacieux and his lackeys in her head, doesn’t it?”

“I… But _he_ came at _me_!” d’Artagnan protested. Andrew shot him a ‘and how is that important?’ look and d’Artagnan glared at him for a moment before sitting back and mulling over what he had said. He frowned after a minute. “I don’t expect her to swoon into my arms. I would have stopped Bonacieux from hitting anyone, not just her.”

“And how is she supposed to know about your hero complex? I got a gist of it when you tried to warn me away from you on my first day, but she doesn’t know that, does she?”

D’Artagnan shook his head at his friend, wincing as he remembered Constance calling him a patronizing ass. He groaned, his head suddenly starting to pain. He couldn’t help but feel that this whole mess was starting to feel more convoluted than the mess with his uncle.

“Did I break you?” Andrew asked, the glee in his voice apparent. “Dude, don’t strain yourself too much. You’re injured as it is.”

D’Artagnan threw a cushion at the grinning boy before gesturing to the TV. “You play PS?”

“What kind of stupid question is that? I’m a fifteen year old American teenager. Of course I play PS.”

“Then get up and switch it on. I’m, like you said, injured,” d’Artagnan snickered, as Andrew got up rolling his eyes.

“You’re going to milk that for all that it’s worth, aren’t you?”

D’Artagnan grinned. “You have no idea.”

XXX

“And so Aramis is standing there with nothing on except a flimsy cloth, covered in body paint, one arm stretched forwards, pretending to be a statue, waiting for Porthos and Athos to come in so he could jump them. Porthos and Athos do come in but with them is the general’s mother. Thankfully, he noticed her just in time and didn’t jump on them like he was supposed to. And then…” Alex dissolved in laughter, unable to continue.

“What happened?” d’Artagnan asked the rest of them gathered on the sofas, grinning at the scarlet blush on Aramis’ face.

Athos chuckled. “The lady mistook a barely clad Aramis standing in her corridor as a new statue that her son had been meaning to surprise her with and she starts gushing over him.”

“It’s not my fault I look like a Spanish god in body paint,” Aramis huffed.

That did it. All of them burst out laughing. Alex had tears rolling down his face while Porthos was clutching at his sides.

“Of course we had realized it was Aramis, but we had to keep completely straight faces while he tried to remain perfectly stationary,” Porthos put in, in between guffaws of laughter while Aramis shot him a betrayed look. “She’s going on and on about how detailed the sculpturing is and how defined each muscle is and how lifelike the eyes look.”

“In face she’s so enamoured by the statue that she tells us to move it to the entrance where everyone could see the lovely gift her son had planned for her,” Athos added.

“Oh god, tell me you didn’t!”

“They didn’t. These assholes had the presence of mind to convince her that it wouldn’t be fair on her son who had such a nice unveiling prepared,” Aramis muttered, swatting his boyfriend on the back of his head. “But she didn’t leave for a good ten minutes. My arm had gone to sleep and my face had gotten completely numb. At least she didn’t touch.” Aramis couldn’t help the shudder that came over him, which just sent everyone onto another fit of laughter. Aramis cast his eyes to the ceiling before kicking Porthos off the sofa.

Mark was the first to recover. “Next day we’re in the plane getting ready to fly back to base and the general comes marching up to Aramis, demanding to know what surprise statue his mother had been talking about. Aramis’ face was a truly beautiful sight!”

D’Artagnan couldn’t remember the last time he had laughed so much. When Athos had told him that he would have to give his statement to two detectives, he had been hesitant at first. But all wariness had disappeared once the men had arrived and he had noticed how they interacted with the others. Alex was loud and snarky, right at home amidst Porthos and Aramis. Mark on the other hand was quiet and reserved and d’Artagnan could see the obvious respect and admiration he had for Athos.

D’Artagnan had decided to get the statement over with as fast as possible. He didn’t really remember much anyway on account of being drugged. He had said as much, worried that his lack of memory will lead to his kidnappers going free. Mark had reassured him that they weren’t going to ask him to pick the men out from a line up. They had been caught at the scene. D’Artagnan’s statement was more of a formality.

Once that was done d’Artagnan had relaxed. Porthos had whipped all of them some hot chocolate and the conversation had in no time led to military stories starting from how the two detectives had met with the three lawyers.

Now as Athos started to get up collecting everyone’s empty mugs off the table, d’Artagnan picked up two of them and stood up. “I’ll help.”

Athos said nothing until both of them were in the kitchen. D’Artagnan started to wash one of the mugs until Athos came and stood right beside him. “What is it?” Athos asked gently.

D’Artagnan turned off the tap, marvelling once again at how well Athos could read him. “I… It’s nothing really.”

Athos sighed. “Come on, spit it out. Is it about you failing Math? Because yes I know about that, and it’s okay.”

D’Artagnan started to shake his head, “It’s not that…” he paused. “Wait. You’re not disappointed?”

Athos rolled his eyes. “Son, I know you’re trying your best and that’s all I want from you. Besides there were bigger things which had your attention and I get that.” A thoughtful look came over his face. “However if you do need help, we can arrange for a tutor, if you want. I would teach you myself but I can’t make any promises with the hours I keep at the office.”

“That’s… I’ll think about it. Maybe it’s not a bad idea. I’m always a little lost in Math period,” d’Artagnan admitted, smiling gratefully at the lawyer.

Athos nodded. “I’ll ask around. Now, what’s actually bothering you?”

D’Artagnan looked unsure for a minute before taking a deep breathe. “Can I stay here? Just for tonight? I know Treville said I had to stay at his place and tomorrow I’ll go there, but can I stay here for now?” The surprised look on Athos’ face had d’Artagnan back peddling in an instance. “Or I could just go. It’s okay, never mind.”

“Hey, hey kid. Stop talking.” Athos’ quiet command had d’Artagnan shutting up immediately. He looked at the older man, confused at the variety of expressions fitting over his face. “You’re not going anywhere. Not today, or tomorrow or any day which comes after. I’ll talk to Treville.” Athos smiled at the utter relief on the boy’s face, the tightness that had taken hold in his chest when d’Artagnan had talked about leaving easing a little. He flicked the boy’s ear, grinning when it startled d’Artagnan. “With everything that has happened you think I’m letting you out of my sight for even an instant, let alone out of my house?”

D’Artagnan shook his head, wondering why he had a habit of underestimating Athos’ ability to be awesome.

“Oh and one more thing.” The teenager looked at the older man, eyebrows raised at the uncertain look on Athos’ face.

“What is it?”

“So a part of the adoption process is meeting with this psychiatrist.”

D’Artagnan had to keep himself from grinning at the look of distaste which came over Athos’ face at the word. He bit his lower lip nervously. “A psychiatrist. I’ve never been to one before.”

“She’s actually not all that horrible,” Athos reassured him, looking curiously flustered. “I’ve had one meeting with her already, but she needs to meet the two of us together. I booked an appointment for tomorrow, if you’re okay with that?”

“Sure. If you’ve survived one visit, she can’t be all that bad right?” d’Artagnan asked. There was definitely more going on here than what Athos was telling him.

Athos suddenly became very interested in washing the mugs in the sink. D’Artagnan cocked his head to a side, was he actually _blushing_? Before he could comment though, Athos turned to him.

“I’m going to go down to the station and talk with Henri. Aramis and Porthos will be here, alright?”

The mention of his uncle had d’Artagnan sobering up immediately. “You’ll be back for dinner?”

Athos shrugged. “I don’t know. You guys eat, don’t wait for me. I’ll grab a bite if I run late.”

D’Artagnan nodded quietly in reply once again hating the fact that Athos would be inconvenienced because of him. Athos didn’t say anything but he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to d’Artagnan’s forehead, in a gesture that was so obviously _paternal_ that d’Artagnan could feel tears welling up in his eyes. “I’ll get this mess over with soon, I promise, alright?” Athos said.

D’Artagnan smiled, reassured. Athos always kept his promises.

XXX

Treville was not having a good day.

First all three of his best lawyers had taken a day off. Though he didn’t fault them for it, God knew they deserved it after everything that had happened the day before; that didn’t mean he had to like it. He had to admit that while they were idiots in their own right, they kept a lot of things from collapsing at the office. Without Athos there to pawn off the responsibility on, he had to deal with all the inconsequential problems the other lawyers came in with himself. By the end of the day he had actually started to miss even Aramis’ level of common sense. He had done so much hand holding in a day that he had almost asked his secretary to pull up the records of all the lawyers in the building and double-check if they had actually graduated from law school, or if Treville had somehow managed to hire ignorant fools.

And now instead of going home and putting his feet up, he was at some fancy charity event. While he had nothing against charity and had already written quite a large cheque to the hosting foundation, he was loathe to socialize with all of Paris’ glitterati. Clad in their finest, with their real diamonds and fake smiles, he felt quite sick at the thought of remaining here for another hour. Again, this was the kind of thing he would delegate to Athos. Someone had to show up from the DA’s office, it didn’t necessarily mean it had to be the _DA himself_.

He forced his face into another polite smile as he pretended to listen to a business tycoon’s wife droll on and on about how their daughter’s pony had contacted arthritis. He turned slightly to signal the waiter for another drink and caught sight of a familiar face. Surprised and secretly relieved that he wouldn’t have to cause a fire to escape being bored to death, he excused himself and made his way up to another similarly disgruntled gentleman.

“You know, you could try and pretend that you’re _not_ planning on how to escape,” Treville said as way of greeting. Judge Borden raised an eyebrow at him in salute.

“It takes one to know one, my good fellow,” the judge smiled.

Treville chuckled, conceding his point. “I didn’t expect to see you here. Is this the usual sort of thing you do once you get out of the courtroom?”

“God no,” Borden replied almost shuddering. “It’s my wife. She blackmailed me into coming. She feels very strongly about this particular foundation. I take it that this isn’t your type of thing either?”

Treville shook his head, but was interrupted from speaking by another familiar voice.

“On a scale of one to ten, one being mildly annoyed and ten being planning the murder of whoever convinced you to come to a charity event, how much pain are you in really?”

Treville turned to find Charles du Lac looking at him in mock concern. From the other side of Treville, Borden snorted. “Charles. Like my good friend here pointed out, it takes one to know one,” Treville countered. “Borden, I’m sure you remember Charles?”

“Oh yes. We used to be neighbours until a few years ago, before Borden was made a judge and he started living at his office,” Charles interjected, laughing.

Borden cocked his head to a side as if trying to remember something. “Oh yes. I think I have a vague recollection. The face does look familiar. Is your house the one with the yellow hedge?”

Charles shook his head maintaining the façade. “No my dear friend. That’s _your_ house.”

Treville grinned at his friends, their easy banter taking him back several years. Perhaps the evening wasn’t such a colossal failure after all.

A couple of hours and several drinks later, the three of them had forgotten they weren’t supposed to be enjoying themselves.

“What about Mrs. Leopold?” Borden asked, his eyes twinkling. “Surely at her age…”

“Oh you would be surprised,” Treville interrupted him, picking up another glass from the waiter’s tray. “Hers was quite formal, with an escort and everything.”

Charles was grinning so hard his face was hurting. “Miss Agnes?”

Treville took a minute to remember before nodding. “Oh yeah, summer of 2009, at the opening of that gallery? You were there, remember?”

The usually distinguished principal giggled at the memory. “God I still remember your face! You couldn’t decide whether you were flattered or afraid.”

When Treville had stated the large number of proposals such public gatherings encouraged as a reason for not showing up on more of them, the other two had refused to believe the veracity of the statement. Treville had told them that every woman in the room who wasn’t already married had at some point shown interest in him after his wife’s death.

They were yet to prove him wrong.

“Why didn’t you ever reciprocate?” Borden asked, at a loss. “Surely all of them couldn’t have been so bad?”

Treville set the glass down, sobering up. Borden looked at him, apology written all over his face, but Treville shrugged. “They weren’t. But none of them were Adiland. And Jon was young, it wouldn’t have been right.”

“Jon hasn’t been young in a long time, my friend. He would want you to be happy,” Charles said quietly.

Treville sighed. “I don’t really know, you know? I’m just not ready to let her go. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to let her go. And that’s not fair for whoever I get married to.”

Charles nodded, placing a comforting hand on his friend’s shoulder. Borden signalled the waiter over and got drinks for all of them. He raised his glass. “To Adiland,” he toasted.

Treville smiled and clinked his own glass to those of his friends’ once again appreciating the easy comradery.

“Besides, the boys keep me occupied enough as it is. I can’t imagine having to balance a home life along with the office hours I keep. It’s a wonder to me how the two of you manage to do it.”

“Oh yeah. We’re great at that. Totally balanced home life,” Charles quipped drily. “Just don’t ever bring that up with my wife.”

Borden grinned in agreement before turning to Treville. “Speaking of work, Athos has not been by the office yet. With his determination to get the case fast tracked, I would have guessed it would have taken him a day to get an earlier date.”

“A lot came up. Remember that uncle who was threatening to retake custody of d’Artagnan? He had him kidnapped,” Treville explained.

Charles sat up. “What?”

“Athos and the boys got him back, of course. He’s alright, just a little shaken up about the whole thing,” Treville added hurriedly, noticing the alarmed look on the principal’s face.

“Thank god!” Charles exclaimed, not quite believing that anyone would go so far as to kidnap a teenager. “He’s a good kid. He doesn’t deserve any of this.”

“Yeah,” Borden agreed, frowning. “It seems such things always happen to those who least deserve it.”

“D’Artagnan looks up to Athos a lot though, I hope your man is as good as you say he is,” Charles put in.

“He is,” Treville reassured his friend, “In all the time I’ve known Athos, he hasn’t ever failed in anything he put his heart into. The only one who needs this to work more than d’Artagnan is Athos.”

“I like the guy,” Borden stated. “He’s a little uptight, in my opinion, but that could be because of my reputation as a hard ass.”

“Your reputation is well earned, my friend,” Treville said, grinning.

“Oh yeah. If only all the poor bastards who tremble in their boots when you enter the courtroom could have seen you when you were upside down chugging beer through your nose back in ’85.”

“I don’t think anyone at Cambridge has ever beaten that particular record,” Borden gloated.

“I don’t think they’ve ever seen a crazier batch than ours,” Treville agreed. “Kids nowadays don’t know how to have fun. I went to Jon’s university last year and I’m telling you all they did there was study!”

Charles chortled. “The apple has fallen far from the tree it seems.”

“Hush,” Treville admonished, grinning. “The apple doesn’t know that.” He wiped at his eyes, tired. The exhaustion of the day seemed to be catching up on him.

They called it a night soon after, each of them silently hoping their schedules would allow them such meetings with more frequency. It did a world of good to forget about everything in the company of old friends, if only for a few hours.

XXX

“Ah Mr de la Fère. I’ve got to admit, I was expecting you sooner.” Athos made sure his face was impassive as he entered the interrogation room Henri had been brought to. The man seemed disproportionately pleased to see him. “Now, like I told your friend here yesterday, I’ve no idea where d’Artagnan has gotten to. Very reckless of you, isn’t it? Losing him like that?”

At that Athos let a smile slip through. Henri’s rotund face immediately turned alarmed. “Who said I lost him?” Athos asked, his tone conversational. Henri gulped. Athos leaned back, putting his feet on the table. “Nope. He’s safe at home, having dinner as we speak. The goons you hired to kidnap him are stewing in prison, and you’ll be joining them soon for a long long time.”

Henri’s face had turned a lovely shade of red and there was sweat breaking out on his forehead. “You don’t have any proof that I had anything to do with the kidnapping.”

“But I do you see,” Athos quipped, studying his nails in a show of nonchalance. “Your hired goons confessed.”

He suddenly sat up straight, causing Henri to jump. Athos leaned forwards, elbows on the table, eyes staring intensely at the smarmy man he hated with all his being. “There’s no rock you can hide under now Henri. Statements from people like your best friend and your ex-wife were already stacking the case against you and then you had to go and do something as stupid as messing with d’Art on my watch.” Athos stood up, and Henri winced, terror written plainly on his face. “I told you that you would pay for that, didn’t I?”

Henri had paled to the extent that he was snivelling by the time Athos had rounded the table and come to stand beside him, his hip against the table, his arms crossed.

“Look, it’s not my fault. None of it is. I was told to do it!”

Athos glared at the man, an eyebrow raised. “You were told to allow your drunk friends to try and rape d’Artagnan?”

Henri shook his head, a stricken look on his face. “Not that. But I was sick then, a drunk! I’m better now. You have to believe me!” he cried as Athos shook his head and made to walk away. “I’ll tell you what really happened to my brother!”

Athos froze on his way to the door. He turned to the man. “Alexandre was killed in a mobbing. His son is witness to that. You can tell me nothing I don’t already know.”

“But it wasn’t a mobbing, he was murdered!” Henri cried.

Athos narrowed his eyes. “Really? You expect me to believe that?”

“I’m not lying. A man came to meet with me, told me that he worked for some shady figure and that I needed to listen to him if I didn’t want to meet the same fate as my brother.” Athos sat down at the chair across from Henri, not believing a word of what the man was saying. He just wanted to see how far he would go to make up excuses for his own faults. “I was told to allow certain people to work in certain departments of the biochemical company I had inherited from my brother. Alexandre had refused to listen to them and tried to inform the police, and they had him killed. I had no choice but to do as the man said.”

Athos smirked at the tall tale Henri had managed to cook up in a matter of seconds. “And how does any of this have anything to do with d’Artagnan?”

“D’Artagnan gets the company when he turns eighteen!” Henri explained. “A few days ago I was contacted again, by a woman this time. She told me that I had to find out where d’Artagnan was and get him to sign over the company to me permanently. That if I wouldn’t do so then I would become expendable as they would have no further use of me.”

Athos was at a loss about whether he should marvel at the man’s imagination, or be angry that he was so intent on laying the blame somewhere else.

“I can arrange a meeting with her, if you guys want. In exchange for a deal of course. I’ll withdraw all claims of custody and you let me walk.”

Athos stood up, shaking his head. “You’re not getting away from this, no matter what bullshit story you come up with. I’ll see you in court.”

He had gotten to the door when Henri called out. “Please, I’m begging you. The Cardinal has men everywhere. They’ll get to me in prison.”

Athos walked out, shaking his head. He stopped in his tracks at the thoughtful looks on both Alex’s and Mark’s faces. They had been listening in from the adjoining room. “Please tell me you don’t believe in all that shit?” he pleaded with the two of them, starting to feel the headache he had woken up with returning.

Alex frowned, but it was Mark who answered. “For several months now, we’ve been hearing whispers of this name among the organized crime rings. Nobody has any real information on him, no one even knows his name. All that is known about him is that he has people everywhere and that he’s called the Cardinal.”

“Nope. No, just no,” Athos shook his head. “That piece of shit in there probably heard the name from somewhere and is just using it to distract us while he comes up with a better plan. Guys, we need to put him away, not make deals with him!”

Mark nodded, “We get it Athos, we do. And I’m not talking about letting him walk. But this is the first lead we’ve on this man, and if all it takes is one meeting then…”

“We have to take that chance,” Alex finished. He got up. “Henri’s going to remain in custody Athos, and he’s agreed to withdraw all custodial claims so that won’t hinder the adoption process. But we have to do this, no matter how convenient it seems that this man is the only lead we have.”

Athos shrugged. “Look, I’ll get the paperwork done tomorrow. He signs it, he’s all yours, provided you keep him in custody. But we are not making any deals with the bastard.”

“We’ll tell him to set up the meeting first, and then see where it goes from there,” Mark said agreeably. “We’ll even call you for the stakeout. You can judge how useful his info is yourself.”

Athos nodded, suddenly exhausted. “Alright. But right now, I’m going home, and so are both of you.” He fixed Mark with a stern look, “I don’t want to hear any complaints from Kelly about the long hours you’re spending away from your daughter, understood?”

Mark nodded, grinning and Alex shot him a mock salute. “Aye aye captain!”

XXX

 

Aramis stood at the sink, spitting quietly into it. For some reason he couldn’t get the nauseatingly familiar taste of copper from his mouth. He washed out his mouth with water, looking at himself in the mirror. The dark circles under his eyes stood out starkly in the harsh bathroom light. He hadn’t gotten much sleep last night.

He knew what this was a prelude to. He had been having too many good days lately that he couldn’t help but be suspicious. His luck always ran out. It was only a matter of when.

There was a knock at the door, and Aramis hastily wiped his mouth before opening it. Athos stood outside, concern etched on his face. Aramis raised an eyebrow. “Back already?” he deflected.

“Yeah, it didn’t take too long for Henri to give up custodial claims once he got how completely fucked he was,” Athos replied. “Although he did manage to convince Alex and Mark that he has some information about some shady crime boss who goes by the name Cardinal. They want to give him a chance to set up a meeting.”

“Blimey, that man is like a slimy weasel. We finally manage to corner him and he’s trying to wriggle away!” Aramis exclaimed.

Athos nodded, wiping at his face. “My thoughts exactly. Anyway, you guys done with dinner?”

Aramis nodded. “Yeah, d’Art just turned in for the night. You want something to eat?”

“No, I’m not all that hungry. You okay?” Athos asked. “You look a little pale.”

Aramis nodded, “Yeah, just tired. I was going to bed myself.” He shot Athos a tired smile, though his heart wasn’t into it. The dread creeping up on him as he made his way up the stairs was enough to tell him that he wouldn’t be getting much rest tonight either.

Athos went to check up on d’Artagnan, nodding softly at his door. The teenager called out for him to enter. He was on his bed, reading a textbook. He put it away when Athos came in, smiling to see the older man. “Hi.”

“Hi. Not sleeping yet?” Athos asked.

“Nah, I thought I would get some reading done. I’m missing so many school days that I will fall behind in everything at this rate,” d’Artagnan said, although it wasn’t entirely true. But somehow telling the lawyer that he had been waiting for him to return sounded too embarrassing in his head.

Athos must have realized it though, because he sat down on the chaise that was still by the bedside. “And here I thought you were waiting up for me to come tell you the good news.”

D’Artagnan sat up, “What happened?”

“Henri has agreed to withdraw all custodial claims. He signs the paperwork tomorrow. After that there’s nothing that can take you away from here.”

Athos felt something settle inside his chest at the wide grin that broke out on d’Artagnan’s face. The teenager jumped up and surprised Athos by hugging him tightly. He let go a moment later, blushing. Athos laughed at the teenager’s antics, ruffling his hair. “I told you that you had nothing to worry about didn’t I?”

D’Artagnan nodded, his eyes brimming with tears. He wiped at them with the back of his sleeve. “I… I can’t believe it’s finally over. Henri has been a threat for so long now that to have him suddenly _gone_ … it’s going to take a while to sink in,” the teenager admitted sheepishly.

“I know the feeling son,” Athos whispered as he enveloped the boy in another embrace, “I know the feeling very well.”

He couldn’t quite believe it himself.


End file.
